


I see dead people

by KiaraAlexisKlay, LittleMrsCookie



Series: Gods and other shenanigans [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demigods, Demigods, F/M, Feelings, Happy Ending, Incest because Greek mythology and Zeus, Not Canon Compliant, Triple Agent, Triple Agent!Rumlow, taserbones, triple agent brock rumlow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 175,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22791484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMrsCookie/pseuds/LittleMrsCookie
Summary: Brock knew there was a demigod somewhere in Avengers Tower, he could practically smell it, feel it in the very marrow of his bones, she just wasn't what he expected.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow, Hades/Persephone, Jane Foster/Thor
Series: Gods and other shenanigans [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128947
Comments: 1329
Kudos: 776





	1. Demigods

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!  
> This was inspired by the Percy Jackson books (I read them ages ago)  
> What we took from Percy Jackson:  
> The general idea that the gods are still alive and kicking  
> The existence of demigods  
> Everything else is not from the PJ Universe and thus the story isn't in the PJ Fandom.
> 
> Obviously this is not cannon compatible.  
> Also slightly inspired by Lore Olympus
> 
>  **warnings:**  
>  the following things are mentioned but not described in any detail (bear in mind that we are talking about ancient Greek Myths here, they are horrible most of the time)  
>   
> Incest - Looking at you Zeus  
> Hints of rape - Looking at the gods in general  
> Hinted Child abuse  
> Cannibalism
> 
> Like stated above those things are mentioned, and not part of the actual story. I feel like a warning is fair though but anyone knowing a little about Greek gods should know the issues with their myths

He knew, the moment he stepped into the Avengers common room, he just knew.

Another demigod was nearby.

The soft power prickled against his senses tauntingly and he felt his lust for bloodshed rise.

His fingers itched to draw his swords from their hidden places, the glamour keeping them from being spotted by the regular mortals, his instincts were screaming at him about the hidden danger another demigod could pose.

Tongue flickering out to lick his lips he almost purred and hoped the other demigod would be a challenge.

Thor _knew,_ of course.

The Norse god of thunder had taken him aside after the first battle they had fought side by side and told him rather clearly that he didn't care whose son he was, if he hurt or betrayed the Avengers, he would wake up dead faster than he could blink.

Mjölnir would take care of it.

Brock had nodded in agreement, assuring the thunder god that he meant no harm.

He told him how the old gods still watched over the world and how he had been chosen to infiltrate Hydra.

As an Ares son, he lacked neither self-esteem nor prowess and had easily beaten the shit out of the other recruits.

He went full asshole which was fun at first but got boring really fast.

Thankfully by then, most others were too scared of him to bother him much.

Hydra had taken him in gladly and he had volunteered for their serum trails, faking that it had worked, ruining their research in the process when all he did was use more of his natural born strength.

Playing fake mercenary was helluva fun too and he got to beat up a lot more people, which satisfied his father and eased his inner unrest and the constant need for bloodshed. Both of which meant a lot, because Ares was still furious that they made him use a taser rod like he was a son of Zeus while fighting Steve Rogers in the elevator.

His father could be rather petty.

Working for the new Shield quickly had him bored, far too less beating up people and too few hidden agendas he could dive into or bust.

He itched for fights.

So when Stark had offered him a place as head of security for Avenger Tower, Brock hadn't hesitated and had agreed. He could always quit if it was too boring, not that it could be any more boring than the current load of paperwork he did at SHIELD and Avengers Tower tended to get attacked at least once a week by some random super-villain.

He was really looking forward to that.

Maybe he would go back and do merc work if things got really, really boring.

He could always beat the shit out of Wade, the nut job occasionally visited him, babbling about much needed comic relief for the readers before trying to stab him.

But somehow he doubted it would grow boring, after all, there was a demigod in Avengers Tower.

Walking farther into the room he instantly spotted the demigod.

 _Demigoddess_.

And what a sight she was, there was no doubt in his mind that she was a daughter of Aphrodite.

His desire for a fight vanished almost instantly and another kind of desire immediately replaced it.

Dark brown hair fell down around her shoulders in curly waves and emphasized her tiny waist and wide hips which he wanted to grab and hold against him while she wrapped those well-toned legs around him.

She turned then as if sensing his gaze and looked in his direction.

Her eyes were a bright and piercing blue, unnaturally so, no doubt hidden by a glamour for the sparkled like sapphires in sunlight.

Soft looking skin, pale and smooth, shimmered softly. Almost like the glow, true goddesses possessed and he knew it was kept from the mortal gaze by a heavy glamour, which he could sense now that he concentrated on it.

The black top she wore had a very generous cleavage giving him a perfect view of her more than ample chest but what drew his gaze were her luscious full lips, painted a sinful red.

Those lips turned into a smirk and his eyes snapped back to hers.

Her smirk widened before it turned into a teasing smile, she actually flickered her hair over her shoulder in clear dismissal of his person as she turned away.

Dismissing him.

He felt insulted.

He was damn good looking for his age and females didn't brush him off normally.

Well, mortal females.

His blood sung at the challenge.

~~~

Darcy saw the new security guy enter the common room and thanks Frigga Thor had warned her because damn, she could easily see through his glamour and had to bite the inside of her cheeks.

Muscles … everywhere.

Sunkissed skin, a handsome face and really nice hair.

The eye candy quota of the Tower just went up a notch (again!).

He had two swords strapped to either of his muscular thighs on top of his regular security weapons, because who needed defense when one could attack, and strode into the common room like he owned it.

Yep, clearly a son of Ares, there was little doubt in her mind.

The similarities were an obvious dead giveaway.

His eyes were a burning red and flashed slightly when he turned to look at everyone present and she quickly averted her own gaze elsewhere and only looked back up when she felt him look at her.

She smirked at him when she noticed his gaze lingering on her longer than what was considered polite and then dismissed his presence with a flip of her hair.

Darcy could practically feel his ego taking a hit from across the room.

Only Jane's confused look kept her from giggling out loud.

She loved messing with other god's children, they mostly thought too highly of themselves and she enjoyed knocking them down a few pegs.

~~~

Much to her surprise, he approached her a few times in the following days and weeks and every time he flirted shamelessly.

At some point, the visits became a daily thing and she was hesitant to admit, she was looking forward to them.

His flirting had turned into an almost familiar pattern and he did seem to start paying attention to her likes and dislikes.

Her continuing refusal to fall for his charms was an obvious challenge for him and she had to confess that his unceasing attention was kind of nice.

It flustered her immensely.

At some point, his flirting had turned into welcomed bantering and occasionally he brought her snacks or a cup of coffee when he noticed Jane had pulled an all-nighter again.

Their interactions were more playful now.

His attempts to score a date were almost pushed into the background, instead, they bantered back and forth.

A strange sort of friendship formed between them.

He would appear and flirt with her a little, then they would talk about their days and she would tease him a little before sending him on his way.

“What is wrong with you?” she asked him with a laugh when he came to the lab with a large flower bouquet on Friday afternoon. By now she was used to his daily visits and their much looked forward bantering.

“Except for my lack of you?” he asked her with a wide grin. “How about dinner tonight?” he flirted, smug grin in place.

Darcy groaned and rolled her eyes at him, used to his arrogant way of flirting by now.

It had been some time since he made an honest attempt though.

“Sweetheart, don't be like this, look this time I brought flowers.” Brock grinned slyly gesturing at the roses he put on her desk.

They were beautiful, there was no denying that fact and came in a fancy vase.

“Brock our bantering is nice and all but we hardly know each other and this is … I mean roses? You are giving me pink roses?” she questioned him, wrinkling her nose a bit.

“What's wrong with roses? They are your mother's flowers aren't they?” he questioned her, clearly confused.

Darcy sucked in a breath and pushed away from her desk, still sitting on her office chair she stared at him with wide eyes.

“Dear Styx … you think I'm a daughter of the love goddess?!” she pointed a finger at him. “I can't believe you, get out!” she told him firmly pointing said finger towards the door. “Please get out and stop flirting with me.”

“You're not a daughter of Aphrodite?” he was obviously baffled.

_Wait … what?!_

“No. Now get out,” she insisted once more, silently fuming, that ass thought she was easy huh? But she was also a little flattered, daughters of Aphrodite were very beautiful women. Ugh, why was this man so damn infuriating.

“What goddess then?” he questioned, never let it be said that he couldn't work with a surprise. “Because you are a vision and I'm sure that Eros stuck me right through the heart.” Brock smugly added sounding oh so serious, even though he imitating being hit by an arrow in a comical fashion.

Darcy was sure that if he could he would be making heart eyes at her.

“You are ridiculous!” Darcy huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest which made her breasts bounce up and his gaze followed the movement with great, unbashful interest, tongue darting out to lick across his lips.

“Sweetheart. I could be even more ridiculous if you told me what goddess, then I could bring you the right flowers.” Brock whined a little, doing his best to pout at her. “Is it Athena? Because I know some people, I can take you to all the libraries, are books your fetish?”

He was wiggling his eyebrows suggestive and she couldn't help the giggle that escaped her before she studied him for a long time. She bit her bottom lip, he appeared serious and she did enjoy their banter.

It couldn't hurt, right? To give him a chance.

“You could bring me a pomegranate,” she revealed almost hesitantly, knowing he would know what that meant. She was pretty sure he would yield now, no one related to any of the Olympian gods didn't know what that meant. “Then I would consider your courtship.”

Brock visible blanched, obviously well aware of the meaning of her request. “A pomegranate?” his voice is an octave higher than usual.

Ah yep, there it was.

“White lilies would work too or narcissus.” she grinned at him, this time more sharply and gestured towards her black top which proudly read 'I can see dead people'.

“You are a Hades daughter.” Brock was obviously completely baffled, he was unusually pale too and she unashamed took great satisfaction at his discomfort. Dragging a hand across his face he mumbled “My father is going to kill me.”

“Yeah, you know the good thing about that is,” she smiled at him sweetly, unable to stop teasing him. “My father can just bring you back.”

That made his eyes snap to hers, a interesting red glint could be seen in the otherwise hazel eyes.

“I'm going to buy you so many lilies and pomegranates sweetheart.” Brock seemed to have made up his mind and not a beat later he rubbed his chin as if in thought and questioned. “You think I could buy a tree? Do they ship those?”

Darcy couldn't believe that he wasn't running with his tail between his legs (oh the pun!)

“I can't believe you haven't run yet!” she voiced out loud.

_Seriously?! Why hadn't he?_

“Please!” he huffed with a grin. “I'm pretty sure you're not going to let your father kill me, I got all those good muscles, wanna see?” he questioned pulling up his shirt and she laughed and catcalled because damn, she would tap that.

The lab door swished open silently and a pair of footsteps approached them.

Jane looked up from her notepad with a frown that turned into a confused look really fast.

“Uhhh … did my portal work? Am I in a parallel universe?” Jane's voice interrupted them, the scientist had a thoughtful expression on her face and kept glancing between the two of them.

“No Janey, but I need tonight off. I got a hot date!” Darcy called while laughing, poking a finger against the very firm and yummy abs.

“Why do I feel like I should put a few dollars into his pants?” Jane grumbled and Brock snorted amused at the tiny astrophysicist while Darcy outright laughter echoed in the lab.


	2. The tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah ... despite writing the idea down to get it out of my head ... it just won't leave me alone.  
> Here is a mini chapter.  
> I hope you guys enjoy it anyway
> 
> I just found out that there is a Marvel Hades. Obviously I don't know anything about him so this is not comic compatible, sorry.  
> ~~~

Their date went well, very well, so well that they were making out in the elevator on their way up.

Rather shamelessly too.

There were shy brushes of hands against her back, that turned bolder with every encouraging hum on her part.

She herself wasn't too shy about moving her fingers over his well toned arms and broad shoulders before dragging them down his chest, nails scrapping over the shirt he wore. The light shudder he made spoke volumes of just how much he relished that simple gesture.

Darcy hadn't thought that she would enjoy dinner with him that much, although she had been delighted with his playful flirting she had somehow doubted that they would have very much things in common.

And they hadn't, hobby wise.

Brock liked to go to the gym in the early morning hours whereas she tended to sleep in as long as possible.

He liked to beat up people or to get beaten up, she was pretty sure that had a double meaning to it, while she liked to knit or crochet while enjoying a good movie.

She liked to cook and bake and most importantly she liked to eat good things, he on the other hand, although he ate much, was a very picky eater, slurping protein shakes and being very mindful of his body fat ratio.

But despite their differences, or maybe just because of them, they fit together well.

He paid attention when she spoke and although his eyes occasionally wandered, his hands never did, which was a pleasant surprise.

It was only when they arrived back and the elevator door closed behind them and they had joked and teased each other about good night kisses, that he had leaned in closer.

Starting out as a very tasteful good night kiss they had quickly encouraged each other into a full blown make out session.

The elevator arrived and dinged softly, the doors sliding open almost unnoticed. Someone cleared their throat and amusement swung in that throaty chuckle, clear for everyone to hear. Brock grumbled against her lips and reluctantly released them.

“Take the next elevator Jack,” Brock grumbled, lips still almost brushing hers, their foreheads touching. The annoyance was clear in the tone of his voice and the tensing of muscles, his eyes meeting hers in a silent apology, still a burning red which was a sharp reminder that her date was in fact a demigod.

“Would do that boss but we got a security problem you really should take a look at,” Jack Rollins drawled in his Australian accent and Brock groaned against her lips in frustration. “Sorry doll, if you give me your number I'll make sure that the boss calls you once he is finished.” Jack winked at her and she giggled amused.

“Jack, stop flirting with my date.” Brock growled out. What had gotten into him? “I'm right here.”

“Sorry … Boss.” Jack drawled teasingly and winked at her once more which caused her to giggle softly.

He was so freaking tall that he towers even over Brock, by almost a head, and he has a mischievous smirk on his face. She could tell instantly that he was just giving Brock shit and that was a perfect excuse to stop this heated exchange of touches and kisses; which surely would have lead farther than she was ready to go.

“Sure thing,” winking equally playfully at the towering giant, while rummaging in her purse for a pen. Making grabby hands at him in a childish manner she demanded. “Gimmy your hand!”

When he held his enormous hand towards her without a moment of hesitation she pushed out of Brock's hold and scrawled her number on the back of Jack's hand.

Gaia! Those were more paws than hands. She wondered briefly if he was half grizzly bear or related to a giant somehow.

Grinning up at him bossily Darcy wagged her finger and commanded. “Make sure he doesn't chicken out on calling me oh tall one.”

Brock squawked in outrage in the background while she moved out of the elevator. “See you later Brock, I had fun.” she couldn't help but tease him further as she sauntered away swinging her hips a bit more than what was necessary.

Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Jack smirk down at Brock when the elevator door closed behind them.

~~~

The first thing she noticed when she entered her apartment was the pomegranate tree.

A pomegranate tree!

It was a beautiful tree with lush green leaves and a few growing bright red fruit on it, planted in a large and heavy marble pot that stood by her window front all innocently.

The only problem was, she didn't own a tree.

The sneaky bastard has used his security clearance to pull this off, there was no doubt about it.

It was very sweet, never the less she would need to have a serious talk with him about breaking and entering.

Despite herself she couldn't help but smile at the offering.

For all his macho behavior … and then he went and did something like that.

A soft creeping feeling alerted her to the fact that she had company.

Company of the godly kind.

Turning towards the source she found her father stepping out of the shadows of her bedroom. The eerie glow of one of his underworld portals disappeared when he stepped forward and into the dim light of her apartment.

“Dad!” a delighted smile lit up her face. It wasn't often that her father visited unannounced. “What a surprise, what brings you here? I thought we agreed on Sunday?”

“I feel like I should give someone a shovel talk,” Hades drawled instead of answering, glowering at the tree, his temper flaring, shadows swirling around him agitated he growled out. “Making marriage proposals without asking me.”

“Don't be ridiculous. I'm sure he didn't mean it that way.” Darcy giggling lightly, amused by his worry. “That was a custom centuries ago!”

“Ah, so there is someone,” Hades smile is downright evil. “I wasn't sure but you just confirmed it.” he mused pleased with himself, the shadows that played around his feet danced and swirled more openly now and moved up across the robes he was wearing.

“Daaad!” Darcy couldn't contain the whining sound that escaped her, she knew he was going to make this difficult.

“So, who is the lucky mortal?” the lurking shadows of the apartment playing as if alive. A smirk on his lips, and half in jest and half _dad_ serious (pun intended!) he continued “Or do I need to send you a few ghosts to spy for me?”

“Don't you dare!” Darcy warned him, wiggled a finger at him, like scolding one of his many dogs. “Seriously. I'm all grown up.”

Darcy huffed a little and wiggled out of her coat, hanging it onto a hook by the door. Her purse followed and she kicked off her high heels. “And he isn't mortal.”

“A demigod?” Hades seemed genuinely surprised by that tidbit of information and she could see the wheels in his head turning. “What god? And don't dare to say it is my high and mighty brother, please … ugh.” her father grumbled, the displeasure was clear on his face, fingers clenching into fists at the thought alone. “He would never let me live it down.”

“Relax. I'm mischievous and not suicidal.” rolling her eyes she continued. “He's a son of the god of War and we were on one date. One!” Darcy informed him and then teasingly added. “Although he's a good kisser.”

“I can tell that,” her father's gaze lingered on her smeared lipstick and he frowned disapprovingly. “And his name?”

She had never dated a demigod before and she instinctively knew her father disapproved, not that he had any say in it, but he was her king and father and he would make his opinion known.

Even before she revealed the name she knew instinctively that her father would react badly. “Brock Rumlow.”

“Crossbones?!” her father was surprisingly loud, power cracking around him in a sharp and swift wave that had her flinching away in reflex. “You went on a date with Crossbones?”


	3. Concerns

“Dad, relax.” Darcy appealed, holding up her hands in a pacifying manner.

She had never seen her father disapprove of anyone so vehemently before, on the other hand, Brock was a son of Ares and those had a certain reputation that Brock didn't exactly contradict. Not to mention the things Ares had done and still did on a regular basis ...

“You do know that he was a triple agent? Don't you?” Darcy voiced while she walked towards her kitchen aisle slowly so he wouldn't think she was avoiding him or the talk he obviously wanted to have about this topic. “Coffee?”

“I'm having serious concerns about your safety my little flower,” Hades insisted vehemently. Approaching her silently he placed a large pale palm on her shoulder and she could feel the warmth of his touch seep into her very core as well as the chill of his deadly powers. “Please take this seriously.”

“I am taking this seriously. This is my _mortal_ life after all.” Darcy turned and arched an eyebrow at him. “So that is a yes to the coffee?”

“Yes please,” came the grumbled reply.

Hades knew from millenniums of experience with his own wife just how willful his flowers could be, but he sensed that she had accepted his concerns.

He knew his daughter, his Darcy, wasn't a fool but he couldn't help but worry about her.

Now that she was mortal he worried even more.

No, this matter could not be ignored. Not when the demigod in question was one of Ares' get. Really, the only gods worse were probably his own brother Zeus or his nephew Apollo.

Darcy had meanwhile pulled out two large mugs and switched on the coffee machine. While it was heating up she walked towards her bedroom, aware of her father's piercing eyes never leaving her form.

“I'm going to get changed into something more comfortable and then we can talk, alright?” she informed him more than she questioned.

He was her king and father, but this was her home and mortal life.

Her father nodded in affirmation and only then did she opened her bedroom door. “I'll be right back.”

~~~

Hades stared at the pomegranate tree until the poor thing withered under his gaze, his aura reaching out unconsciously to destroy the offensive offering, how dare that bastard send such a gift.

To his daughter never the less.

The leaves turned first red, then yellow, before falling off the branches which were turning a dark gray and sickly color.

The fruits rotted and dropped to the ground with an ugly splashing thud.

“Father,” his flowers soft voice drew him out of his musings. With a wry smile on her lips she questioned. “Whatever did that poor tree do to you?”

Dressed in a pair of comfortable leggings and a light green sweater shirt she walked towards the tree.

Moving one delicate hand against the almost black bark the soft diminished light of her skin brightened briefly and instantly the tree started to return to a healthy brown color and new leaves sprouted from the branches, grew and turned a lush green while bright red pomegranate flowers bloomed in a wild pattern.

Hades rose to stand and was almost instantly behind her, nothing but the soft swaying of his robes indicated he had moved at all.

“That is exactly why I'm so concerned my little flower,” her father voiced his concern. “You must be extremely cautiousness.”

“Dad. He thought I was a daughter of the love slut.” Darcy rolled her eyes in amusement, a smirk on her lips. “He's a son of Mister 'let's just stupidly charge ahead without thinking', he's not going to question who my mother is. It's all finished in his head. I'm a daughter of Hades and that was that. No mystery to solve there. Besides … it's not like I'm a full goddess.”

“Don't underestimate my nephew or any offspring of his.” her father warned with a flare of cyan in his eyes. “They do tend to attack first and think later but … they think.”

“With their dicks you mean.” Darcy smirked at her father who rolled his eyes in exasperation and groaned.

Darcy giggled silently, her amusement clear in the crinkle around her eyes and the softest of smiles on her lips. Her father was right of course. Despite Brock's obvious interest in her and very respectful behavior during their date and in every other interaction they had so far (even if he was a rather bold flirt) she couldn't trust him.

Not yet.

Not even if he had always made sure to only touch her when he was sure she consented, pulling back at the slightest sign that she was uncomfortable. Which was more she could say about some dates with humans … let alone gods.

“Come on dad. I did enjoy my date with him, he was very respectful and there is definitely chemistry, more than I like to admit with a son of _him_ , but it's not like he's going to abduct me and drag me into his dark underworld castle to properly seduce me and then marry me. You know, that's kind of illegal now.” she teased, knowing that would ruffle her father's feathers.

Hades grumbled into his mug. Muffed words like “Just like your mother,” reached her ears and some more she couldn't make out.

“Can you at least give him a chance until you met him?” Darcy required. “You never were this way before, but I guess I can understand … with who his father is.” she requested and he really never had been, something was definitely up with that, something more than the fact that Ares was an ass. “Besides, it's not like I already made a decision of any kind.”

“We've met,” her father growled, baring teeth that sharpened. “Crossbones is quite known to the Olympian court.”

“What?” Darcy asked surprised, pausing, her mug in front of her lips, yep, there was definitely more to it than her father was willing to tell.

If Brock Rumlow was known to the Olympian court it meant Zeus had hired him for _something_.

“My flower … he worked for the Red Skull, triple agent or not ...” Hades growled with a shake of his head he trailed off. “The things he did and saw. I don't want you to have to bear such a burden,” her father continued. “Besides … you know why the Red Skull accepted him so eagerly.”

“I'm not stupid, everyone knows that the Skull is a Son of War too.” Darcy shuddered at the thought. Red Skull was the perfect example of what sons of Ares were capable of. “The question is when have you met Brock?”

“You know that Ares is the god of War, he _thrives_ in it, all the slaughter and rage, the hate and the fear,” her father's brow was furrowed with worry and he continued, “There is a reason why Athena is the goddess of warfare and he the god of War.”

“What are you saying?” Darcy demanded to know. “I know you want to say something but you are twisting your words like we are at court.”

“I am saying that I don't want you to get caught in the middle when Ares decides to pit his sons against each other once more, and that his sons are more like him than you might realize.”

Darcy is just about to retort when an explosion shakes the whole tower. Her eyes widen in surprise, that had to be quite some impact.

“That's it,” Hades growled, taking off his cloak and rising to his feet, advancing towards her.

“Dad don't!” Darcy told him wide eyed. “It's probably just Tony, he tends to blow things up.”

“It isn't,” Her father grumped, his words are accompanied by the red emergency light that starts to blink on the ceiling.

“The tower is under attack, please evacuate or find the nearest panic room. This is not a drill.” Jarvis voice announced calmly.

Blue eyes wide she turned to look at her father who draped his cloak over her shoulders with one swift move.

“No! Don't you dare!” Darcy shrieked at him when a familiar sickening green light appeared underneath her, the biting cold of the Underworld already creeping through her veins and the pull of the portal already dragging her down below. “DAD!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more of Hades and Darcy interacting
> 
> This story won't leave me alone 😱 and somehow turned into a full story.
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely kudos and comments. I really appreciate them!


	4. Explosions

“I'm going to make you run laps until you're fucking sorry.” Brock growled at Jack as soon as the elevator doors closed, sending the tall Australian a pissed off glare.

A glare that was burning red in anger and annoyance.

“Sure thing boss.” Jack grinned slyly, looking at one of his hands while adding the little beauty's number to his contacts. “You finally got her to agree to a date huh?”

Brock growled irritated. “Are you seriously adding her to your contacts as **hot elevator sheila???”**

Maybe he could hit him, just a tiny little bit, if he held back enough it wouldn't seriously hurt Jack but it would be rather satisfying. He was beyond irritated, it had felt so right having Darcy in his arms and that wasn't only lust speaking, something about her was calling to the very nature of him.

It felt so right.

He had never felt like that with anyone before.

At first, he had assumed her appeal was to her parentage, which he wrongly had thought to be Aphrodite, but considering who her father was he doubted she used any kind of magic to draw him in.

Considering how hesitant she had been to accept a single date with him.

His hands and lips still tingled from her touch, her sweet taste still lingered on his lips and tongue, taunting and teasing him with what could have been if Jack hadn't interrupted them.

“What?” Jack shrugged, drawing him out of his musings and barely containing his amusement. “We haven't officially exchanged names.”

“So many fucking laps” Brock muttered under his breath, silently counting to ten to calm down. Oh who was he kidding, he wanted to hit Jack repeatedly and not hold back while doing so.

“I'll look her name up later. She's the lab manager yes? I forget ... Lewi something” Jack scratches his forehead with a single finger, leaning back against the wall casually, that … _kangaroo_!

“Her name is Darcy Lewis and you know that! Don't try to play me Jack. She is the only lab manager. Really high clearance.” Brock grumbled at the same time as the elevator arrives, the doors open with a soft whooshing sound. “How did you end up in Strike Alpha again?”

Brock waltzed outside immediately, stalking through the long corridor and glaring at everyone he passed. He was in a sour mood, his plan for the evening hadn't included _work_ work.

“Dumb luck!” Jack immediately countered, casually strolling after him.

“Some of the best stories start with dumb luck” Captain Rogers appeared beside them, arriving through the door leading to the staircase. “What did I miss?” he questioned and leaned in closer to Jack to fake whisper. “And why does he look like someone smuggled chocolate into his protein bars?”

“Caught the boss kissing a sheila in the elevator” Jack grinned at him ferally, the scar on his face twisting. “Wandering hands were involved” he fake whispered back and Steve's face lit up with mischief.

“Oh! Gossip, do tell.”

“Don't think I can't hear you and don't think I don't know you both are giving me shit!” Brock turned around to glare at them. “You!” he pointed at Jack. “Get your ass into the office and show me what is so god damn important” he ordered and Jack sauntered off, saluting mockingly.

“And you! I'd hit you in your patriotic face but then I'd lose my job and would need to find other people to beat up regularly.” Brock glowers at Steve. “So how about we meet in the gym and I can pretend that it was an accident. Let's say in two hours? I dunno how long this is going to take”

“Sure thing” Steve smiled at him innocently before deadpanning with a straight face. “But if you want we can always go back and do it in the elevator … you seem to like _banging_ there”

The Captain's expression didn't change, not even when Jack could be heard howling with laughter farther down the hallway. In fact, his second in command laughed so loud and heartily that he was bent over and slaps his knees.

The little patriotic shit was the biggest troll in existence and everyone believed his “ _Oh shucks ma'am_ ” routine or the “ _I'm so sorry Tony. This modern technology is like magic, what button do I have to push again?”_

All the dorks forgot that the serum had given him a nearly perfect memory alongside with his muscular body.

Brock shook his head and flipped Cap off while he turned around to walk after Jack, down the hallway towards their offices. He could hear Steve laughter until the office door fell shut behind him.

“So?” Brock drawled his gaze focusing on Jack who waited patiently. “Explain to me why you decided to ruin my Friday evening plans.”

“Cam here noticed someone lurking outside the Tower repeatedly.” Jack immediately jumps into professional mode, putting a large hand on Cameron Klein's shoulder.

The far smaller man grimaced a little at the contact.

“Klein.” he greeted and gestured for him to show him that 'lurker'. “Show me what you got.”

Cameron Klein started to stutter and fumble through his explanation and Brock raised an eyebrow at him.

“Cameron,” he interrupted him with a sigh. “You know that I'm sorry I pulled a gun on you, I told you on the first day I started working here.” Brock explained in a very patient tone while Klein stared at him with wide eyes and a pale face. “And I don't know shit about computers okay? But I know that neither Shield nor Stark hires idiots, so I trust that you know the difference between a stalkerish fan and a potential threat.”

Brock gives him a long stare. “I mean it, you're on my team now Klein.”

“Right sir, sorry.” Klein squeaked a little but quickly proceeded to pull up pictures and data. “I noticed him because he always has that strange umbrella with him.” Klein told them pointing out said umbrella.

“After noticing him I had Jarvis keep an eye out for him but facial recognition didn't get me any results.” Klein said pulling up another picture of another man. “I think we have ourselves a shapeshifter.” Klein continued. “And if he weren't always carrying the same brand of umbrella I wouldn't have noticed.”

More pictures appeared, of different males, all carrying similar looking umbrellas.

“So after realizing that, I wrote a small algorithm that would tell me when he showed up and so far it has always been when either Prince Thor, Dr. Foster, Miss Lewis or the Captain were present.” Klein says. “He hasn't shown up for any other Avenger or scientist and to be honest I don't think that he is here for Cap.”

He showed them more pictures where the different men can be seen shooting pictures with their phones.

“I think … that they are after Dr. Foster's research, they seem to be focusing on her and the people close to her.” Klein finished, taking in a long gulp of air.

Brock frowns and clicks through some of the pictures before he inquired, “And you just came to the realization now?”

“He showed up again when you and … uhh … Miss Lewis entered the building.” Cameron said, fumbling with his fingers while a blush painted itself on his neck and cheeks. “Other side of the street, farther away than usual but it tripped my algorithm.”

“He must have some kind of intel, he only ever shows up when Dr. Foster, Miss Lewis or Thor himself are there. I brought it to your attention because I thought you might have noticed something during your … uhh date?” Cameron Klein was sweating and switching in between growing pale and red while grimacing at him. “And because we should set up a bodyguard for the two woman. I mean obviously, Thor can take care of himself?”

“Good work Klein.” Brock nods at him and opens his mouth to say more when a few warnings blare up.

“Incoming!” a voice of one of the techs shouts. “Three unauthorized jets are heading straight for us.”

“I got four rockets on the radar!” a female tech shouts and they scramble into action.

One hit the building before anyone can do more than process the info. The tremble of the impact shook the entire Tower. Ironman can be seen flying past their window, shooting blast after blast, obviously somehow having managed to hold of the other three rockets.

Klein hits the red alert button. “I've always wanted to do that.” he grinned and then tucked his head immediately afterwards. “Sorry, that was uncalled for.”

Brock's mouth twitches in amusement and he looked at Jack before reaching up for his earpiece. “Secure Dr. Foster and Miss Lewis. We think the jets might be a distraction to get the Bifrost research.” he orders his men over the coms. “Everyone else help evacuating the building, any funny looking person with an umbrella is a possible shapeshifter, detain him or her at all cost.”

“And someone give me a link to Stark, he might want to know this too.” Brock growls out. “Klein!”

The nervous tech looks at him wide eyed.“Yes sir?”

“Put this floor in security lockdown and don't open up unless the security phrases have been answered. Remember shapeshifter.” he reminded and Klein nodded. “Just in case one shows up looking like me. I don't like limes, they are far to bitter” Brock informed him before dashing out of the door with Jack. “Keep the tech guys safe for me Klein!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explosion a day keeps the boredom at bay ;-)
> 
> Do you like troll Steve?


	5. Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this might be a bit confusing but I didn't know how to fit it into the story.  
> Gods, demigods, spirits etc.... have some kind of glamour that keeps them from being spotted by regular mortals.  
> Thus the men with the umbrella (those were swords/spears...)  
> If you have seen Percy Jackson … he had a ballpoint pen that turned into a sword

“Rumlow” the voice of Stark snarled through a private channel on their coms. “Where are you and why do I have pictures of Daedalus styled mechanical warriors popping up on my screen?” he demanded to know.

“Uhh, did you hear anything of what I just explained to you?” Brock asked slowly.

“Yeah, yeah I heard but duh … surprise. I can see through glamours so you can shove your shapeshifter lie where the sun doesn't shine” his boss told him in a sassy way. More explosions could be heard in the background before Ironman snarked “I specially like your short swords, they are very inconspicuous. The only thing missing is that leather armor you see in movies”

“I got one of those” Brock supplied and Stark barked a laugh while Brock moved through the staircase as fast as possible, trying to reach the floors with the apartments.

He had a few men stationed by the labs and they had ushered the scientist into the panic room. A few minutes earlier he had gotten the confirmation that Foster and Banner were safely tucked away. He could hear the mechanical clicking of some mechanicals farther down.

A foreboding feeling and a brush of ice cold air alerted him to the presence of … _something_.

He knew that feeling.

“Seriously, where are you? I wanna know where my personal Berserk is” Tony questioned. “Oh … I'm gonna call you Dagur. Dagur the Deranged”

Brock tucked out of the way when a fucking Ker appeared beside him.

Shit, he should have known, that tingling of his senses had been far too fucking unnatural to be a common threat.

The half corporal form of the female death spirit grinned a sharp fanged grin, and didn't waist time to jump at him with an ugly screech and sharp claws ready to rip him apart.

Brock moved out of the way and he slashed at the undead creature with his sword.

Her dark form had appeared out of nowhere and hovered in the air, before she turned to face him once more, an ugly snarl on her lips. Dark blood dripping down her back.

That's what she got for thinking him an easy mortal target.

“Fucking undead bitch.” he cursed. “Fuck Stark, you got a death spirit in your Tower and its not only ugly as fuck its also unfriendly.” Brock informed him. “I'm in the staircase. I got two automats and a Ker.”

Tony cursed plentifully over the coms. “I'm sending you Thor. I hope you got some Olympian weapon on you” Stark questioned, a gasped follows and the link cracked a little. “Shit that hurt” Tony cursed obviously having been hit by something.

“Yeah” Brock muttered, twirling one sword in his hand while keeping an eye on the Ker.

The female death spirit grinned at him with gnarly teeth before diving at him once more, shrieking like a banshee.

~~~

Her apartment is empty.

He searched it twice just to be sure, probably ruining one of her carpets because part of the claw wound in his left arm was still bleed. There was nothing to be found, except for a whole bunch of dead leaves which lay around the tree he had gifted her. His heart clenched, what if there was was more than one Ker and it had gotten to her before him?

Would they even attack her?

They were underworld spirits but anyone could have summoned them and the mechanical warriors wore no insignia, they were rather easy to defeat so he doubted they were build by a demigod. They looked more like someone gave the plans to a mortal who only understood a third of what he was supposed to do.

“Jarvis” Brock called, pacing to the next console in the hallway. “Show me the security feeds please. I want to know if Darcy made it to her apartment after leaving the elevator” he ordered.

“Of course Mr. Rumlow” Jarvis replied.

The security video of the hallway immediately started playing. He watched her leave the elevator and saunter towards her door, she unlocked it and entered without an incident.

“Did anyone else enter her room?” Brock questioned.

“The video feeds and my sensors suggest that no one has entered Miss Lewis apartment until you came to search for her” Jarvis informed him and Brock sighed. “If I may be so bold Mr. Rumlow ... you should go to medical. I have informed Mr. Stark that Miss Lewis is unaccounted for” the A.I. gently voiced, trying to persuade him to seek a doctor.

Thor appeared at his side, flying in through a smashed window in the hallway.

“Son of War.” he boomed loudly. “The man of Iron has informed me that my lightning sister is missing” Thor looked around. “I am sorry to have arrived so late. There was a glorious battle going on outside and those pesky flying men kept shooting rockets at the Tower”

“It's okay big guy. I don't think it would have made any difference” Brock told him, clearly frustrated before turning back to the console and commanding. “Jarvis security override of the privacy protocol. The living room please. I want to know what happened to that tree.”

“Right away Mr. Rumlow” Jarvis almost seemed to sight.

“Don't worry buddy, I'll let Cho or Banner patch me up right after” Brock assured the A.I.

~~~

Darcy swore under her breath when her feet hit solid ground, with an angry snarl she ripped her fathers cloak from her shoulders and threw it on the dark black marble floor.

“Darcy? What are you doing here honey?” a very familiar voice asked.

Twirling around, her eyes fell on the goddess of spring, Persephone.

The goddess was sitting in a windowsill, overlooking the gardens. Pale skin was shining in a soft golden light, natural to all gods, long chestnut brown hair fell around her shoulders in delicate waves, deep blue eyes looked at her full of surprised delight.

The Spring Goddess looked just as out of place in the dark castle as herself.

“Mom!” Darcy perked up immediately, rushing into the open arms of the goddess.

Persephone pulled her into her lap and hugged her tightly, pale fingers moving through her hair while she hummed softly. “What did Hades do, hmm?”

“He's being an idiot” Darcy grumbled. “I had a date with a demigod, a son of our hit and kill war god, and now he's going completely overprotective” she mumbled into her mother's lap.

“Really? Your father, I can't imagine” Persephone laughed softly.

“There might also have been an explosion but he's totally overreacting” she complained.

“You need to give me context what kind of explosion because this has a high chance of a double meaning” her mother said in a teasing tone, winking at her naughtily.

“Mom!” Darcy grumbled, not able to manage to withhold the annoyed groan, while the spring goddess laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES, Darcy is the daughter of Hades and Persephone, princess of the underworld etc.  
> I will explain why she isn't a full goddess later in the story


	6. Mischief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost thought I wouldn't be able to write today. It was a crazy day ... sigh  
> But anyway, here is a little new chapter. I hope you guys like it.

Darcy's phone buzzed with an incoming text message. With a tired yawn she fumbled for it. It hadn't been too late when Brock and her returned to the tower but by now it surely was around midnight. She and her mother had curled up together and fallen asleep in her parents large bed.

“Brock is going all nuts, he found a video fed of your dad taking you to the underworld and somehow thinks you've been abducted.” the text from Jane read.

Darcy blinked at the screen in tired confusion. Why would he think that? He knew Hades was her father.

A picture followed and Darcy was sure she would nosebleed if this was an anime.

“Oh, he looks yummy. I approve.” her mom is leaning over her shoulder, glancing at the picture of Brock in leather armor and wiggling her eyebrows cheekily.

“Mom!” she huffed a little biting her bottom lip and unable to keep the blush of her face.

Mhm, the leather armor really showed off his muscles, she wondered briefly if he wore boxers underneath the tunic and leather armor, and then she blushed furiously at her thoughts. The picture showed Brock, discussing something with Thor while Tony stood in the background looking amused.

“Why? He knows I'm a Hades daughter.” Darcy wrote back, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“I dunno, but neither Thor or Tony have told him its a stupid idea to **rescue** you from the underworld.” Jane's text appeared with a soft ding sound. “In fact I think they are encouraging him on purpose” Jane typed. “I think you should call him, he's looking up entrances.”

Jane sends her another picture.

Her mother began to giggle which quickly turned into loud laughter.

“Oh, I think he doesn't realize it was your dad.” the new text appeared. “You should hurry, he figured out that there's an entrance in the subway station near the Tower. He got like connections on Olympus.”

Darcy was just about to dial Brock's number when her mother snatched her phone away.

“Hey,” Darcy complained.

“Hush,” Persephone chided softly, patting her hands away.

“Give it back, I need to call Brock. What if he really comes here?” Darcy gnawed on her bottom lip once more, trying to wrestle the phone from her mother.

“Yes, what if?” her mother mused, waving her arms which caused vines to wrap around Darcy's wrists. “What an exciting thought!”

“Mom?” Darcy asked confused, tugging at the vines that bound her and wouldn't give.

“You like him don't you?” her mother inquired, moving closer to brush her hair behind her ear.

The vines weren't uncomfortable nor tight, but Darcy was still confused as to _why_ they were there.

“I do.” Darcy confesses, blushing furiously she tugged against the bounds once more.

“Then let him rescue you.” her mother grinned mischievously.

“That's a little mean, don't you think?” Darcy questioned her before she frowned and voiced her concern. “He could get seriously hurt, not to mention everyone who would meet him on his way here could be seriously hurt. He's one of the War God's children. He's clearly not thinking this through.”

“Pish posh, we can always warn everyone to stay out of his way.” her mother waved off her concerns before raising a brow at her. “What is the real problem?”

“It's just … he approached me thinking I was a daughter of Aphrodite?” Darcy voiced hesitantly.

“Ah, you think he might only be interested because of,” her mother trailed off and gestured towards her chest with a bemused twinkle in her eyes. “All the more reason to see if he truly comes for you” Persephone grinned at her and moved one of the straps, which were holding up Darcy's nightgown down over one of her shoulders.

Darcy blinked at her confused, having a foreboding feeling of what her mother was planning. “What are you doing?”

“We're going to send him a little encouragement” her mother smiled wickedly. “After all he thinks you've been abducted by some evil god or spirit or something” she giggled pleased and wiggled around giddily. “Now put your arms back a little and push your chest out” she demanded opening the camera app.

“You know … I think I'm starting to believe dad's version of the story, where it was you who seduced him,” Darcy mused, looking at her mother with faked wide innocent eyes.

Her mother stuck her tongue out at her. “You will never know,” she said with a mischievous wink and a large grin on her face while she snapped pictures. “Now stay that way, you're eyes are perfect in this light.”

Her mother snapped a few more pictures before she seemed satisfied with the result.

“What are my two flowers doing awake so late at night?” her father's voice suddenly echoed through the chamber.

Neither one of them had heard him approach and Hades stepped out of the shadows, sickly pale skin glowing an eerily blue green, black eyes reflecting the little light in the room and gleaming ominously. He walked closer to them slowly, putting his staff away on a weapon rack.

“Nothing,” Persephone chirped innocently, clicking on send while she patted her eyes at her husband. “Just some women chatter,”

The vines immediately removed themselves from around Darcy's wrists.

“Really?” Hades mused, gently grasping her mother's chin to make her look at him. “Because you have that look about you my queen” he mumbled, pressing a soft kiss onto her lips before he grumbled. “That look that means you are feeling particularly mischievous.”

“It's nothing my love” her mother purred, moving a hand through her fathers hair. “Darcy and me are just going to go shopping tomorrow, putting that wealth of yours to good use” she fluttered her eyes at him and Darcy could tell he didn't believe a word her mother was saying.

“Go to sleep my queen. Tomorrow is soon enough for you to give me a migraine.” he teased her, kissing her once more before leaning over and pressing a loving kiss onto Darcy's forehead. “You too my little flower,” he commanded softly.

It's been a long time since Darcy slept curled up in between her parents.

She felt safe.

And exhausted.

Darcy drifted off to sleep far easier than she had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses/ideas/suggestions what should happen next?  
> Where is Brock going to find Darcy? Shopping with Persephone in the Underworld or a more dramatic setting bwahahaha?  
> Or maybe he will arrive and find Hades while the woman are gone (shopping)  
> Hmmm the possibilities


	7. Floor ninety nine please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brock travels to the Underworld

Brock had managed to find the heavily glamoured door after searching for a few hours.

Tony had turned out to be a grandson of Hephaestus, it explained why he was so good at building things and why he could see through glamours. Being only a ¼ god he couldn't enter the underworld and had been rebuffed by the barrier.

Thor had also been thrown back and no matter how hard he had smashed Mjölnir against the barrier, it wouldn't give.

Now Brock stood alone, in front of a dark elevator, he had pushed the button after a few seconds of contemplating. What else was he supposed to do, he needed to find out who had taken Darcy. The video clearly showed a dark form creating an underworld portal beneath her.

His best shot was to find a way to contact Hades so they could figure out who had taken Darcy. There was a huge chance she had been taken to threaten the Underworld God.

Not to mention the picture he had gotten from an unknown number, it still had him fuming. Oh how he wished it was his bed in which she lay. He wanted to kill something.

The elevator door in the subway station opened with a ding.

Brock stared at the Gorgon lady that stood in the elevator.

The female snake creature stared right back at him.

She wore a white blouse and a pencil skirt, in her green scaly hands she held a folder which she was flipping through, reading glasses where perched on her petite nose, snake like hair was done up in a bun. She looked like she was going to a business meeting.

“Well?” she hissed, gleaming yellow eyes settling on him. “Are you going to block the elevator any longer? Because I've got a meeting on level fifty-eight and Hecate is going to make shoes out of me if I'm late.” the female monster hissed at him.

“Uhhmm … sorry” he managed to stutter out, stepping into the elevator and studying the many floors.

The Gorgon lady glanced him over and giggled softly obviously amused. “First time in the Underworld?” she questioned, her slit eyes settling on his once more.

“Yes.” he admitted, careful not to step on her long snake tail.

“What are you here for dressed like this?” she grinned, showing off the sharp fangs in her mouth as she questioned him, “You look like someone forgot to tell you that we don't live in ancient Greece anymore.”

Brock is too flabbergasted by the situation to come up with an answer right away. Why was this Gorgon not attacking him, why was she wearing business wear and reading glasses … for Zeus sake!

“Oh … oh dear!” the Gorgon lady said suddenly as if something just occurred to her. “You're a demigod! You think you need to fight your way through here don't you?” she realized before bursting out laughing. “Sorry, sorry” she gasped for air, waving a hand in his direction. “Okay, which god send you on a wild goose chase?” she questioned still giggling, pressing the folder against her belly in an attempt to keep in her hissed giggles.

“No god” he told her shaking his head. This situation was absurd, the best course obviously was to just go with it. “Someone abducted another demigod with an Underworld Portal. I'm here to see Hades to figure this whole mess out.”

“Two demigods in the Underworld. The Big Boss is going to have a field day.” the Gorgon cackled. “Look this almost makes up for you making me late for my meeting.” she glanced at her phone.

“Sorry about that” Brock told at her sympathetically, doing his best to smile charmingly at the monster lady. Maybe she would help him or give him some useful information. What was he thinking? He had fought Gorgons before, this just wasn't right.

“You're a cutie, for a demigod, they usually just appear and wave swords around, so I'm going to help you a little.” she informed him with a fanged smile. “You have gold for Charon yes?”

Brock nodded, he couldn't believe this was working.

“Good good. You'll need it for him to ferry you to the castle. Get off on floor 99.” she recommeded. “You can't miss Styx, Charon or the castle.” the Gorgon lady continued. “It's in the middle of the night though, so maybe you should enjoy the sights first. Shopping is on 55 and I guess you'll need to find somewhere to sleep.”

She smiled in an unsettling way and the elevator moved farther down, the dark elevator shaft ended, revealing that two of the elevator walls where made out of glass, giving a stunning view of the Underworld.

It wasn't at all like he expected.

In fact it looked like a modern city, with tall dark sky scrapers and shopping miles. A huge billboard in a dark blue color read. “You're dead! Congratulations!”

They still move deeper and then the elevator stopped, the doors opened with a ding and the Gorgon lady slithered outside. “Good luck” she waved of her hand in a far too casual manner and then she slithered farther outside, her long snake tail trailing after her.

Once the doors closed again she took out her phone, searched briefly for a contact and pressed call, she put the phone to her ear.

“You'll never guess who I just met in the elevator” she hissed into the phone, a wicked smile on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dawww ... he didn't get to fight the Gorgon


	8. Guess who

Waking up to darkness was the only thing that always made her feel just a tiny bit cold inside. While there was no denying The Underworld was a beautiful place, but the everlasting twilight (daytime) or darkness (nighttime) always reminded her of just why her m other couldn't stay here for eternity.

Somewhere during the night her mother must have snuck around her, because her parents where wrapped around each other, limbs tangled and soft smiles on their lips.

Silently she slipped out of bed and grabbed one of her mother's dressing gowns along with a pair of bright pink fuzzy slippers. Darcy's gaze briefly traveled to the ceiling of her parents' bedroom, it glittered and twinkled like the night sky and she smiled softly. Her father had wor ked in thousands of diamonds into the ceiling so it looked like you slept underneath the real sky.

After working with Jane she had realized that he had recreated the night sky precisely. Every star was in the correct position and they even moved. With a smile she silently opened the door and slipped outside, closing the door behind her.

"Hey, there boys," she cooed a greeting, when a cold, wet snout pressed itself to the back of her neck whilst another was sniffing her hand.

Turning around, she came face to face with the large snout of a Dalmatian, before two more giant heads pushed their snouts against her, tail wagging furiously.

“Spot,” she chided softly, pushing one of the heads away only for another to take its place.

“You are far too big for me to pick you up, hush, away with you, you big cry baby,” she grinned, scratching one of the huffing and whining heads behind the ears and they whine at her a little more, tail wagging furiously. Two hands clearly weren't enough for three giant dog heads that wanted attention.

“Come on, you're like, nine feet tall now. You'll squish me” she beckoned him. “And if I can't move to the kitchen … well who is supposed to feed you?” Darcy teased.

Spot's ears perked up at the mention of food and the tail began to wag with newfound enthusiasm, she giggled pleased at his enthusiasm and patted another head.

“Come along, Spot,” Darcy once again breathed softly, while she had already started to move through the hallway.

Spot followed her obediently, snouts occasionally pushing against her back in eagerness. A few ghostly servants moved out of their way, giving various joyful greetings.

After feeding Spot three huge steaks she ventured towards her room. The kitchen staff insisted on helping her with the steaks and they refused to let her prepare her own breakfast, telling her everything would be ready in a few moments.

One of them told her that her room had been prepared and gowns had been laid out, so she decided to get dressed and then eat. Spot was still eagerly trotting after her and soon enough the patting of paws behind her multiplied. Turning around she found a normal sized snow white Pomeranian.

“Oh, you're so cute!” Darcy squealed. “You're new though” she laughed a little and bend down to offer a hand for the little fluffy thing to sniff.

It did so and immediately started excitedly yipping at her while it bounced on the spot. She smiled to herself; if her dad had gotten another dog ... Darcy shook her head in amusement and turned the tag on the expensive velvet collar around , it read “Selene” and had her mother's contact info.

“I bet you're driving dad and his dogs crazy,” Darcy giggled to herself and picked the little dog up. “Can't believe mom finally got a dog. You're clearly a princess though.”

Selene immediately proceeded to lick her face in answer while Spot looked at her betrayed.

“I knew it” Darcy mumbled into the fluffy snow white fur, of course Spot was jealous of the attention the far smaller dog was getting. “Sorry buddy, you're just too tall,” Darcy apologized and Spot's three heads huffed a pout.

Arriving at her room she sat Selene down and entered, holding the door open so both dogs could follow her inside. The dress, was the first thing she noticed, laid out on the bed for her was a beautiful long and flowing gown, made out of white silk and veils and adorned with flowers made out of pink diamonds. This was a dress she would wear if she had an official appearance as the Underworld Princess and definitely not normal day wear. No doubt her mother had planned more than a little shopping today.

Darcy took her time, taking a hot shower and applying some light makeup before she slipped into the dress. She had learned long ago that it was better to humor her mother's antics than to fight them. There was a pair of comfortable golden sandals to go with the dress, nothing too fancy and definitely something she could run it. Her mother had clearly planned _something_.

“Well, what do you guys think?” she questioned the dogs with a foreboding feeling while twirling around to show off the marvelous gown.

Selene yipped at her agitated and somehow managed to sound approving while Spot had a very alert demeanor and looked around, he started to growl in warning and she tensed, letting her senses move out of her like a wave.

Too late it seemed when suddenly a pair of pale hands appeared in her vision and settled over her eyes in a clearly gentle manner.

“Guess who?” a mischievous voice asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an awesome new Beta Reader!  
> Thank you so much [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> She's the best so send her your love too (or cookies, I'm sure she likes cookies)
> 
> Spot is based on this picture of Persephone and Cerberus  
> [Mlem by sigeel](https://www.deviantart.com/sigeel/art/Mlem-789765880)


	9. Traveling Pass A38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the best chapter so far and it is all thanks to my awesome Beta!

“Loki?!” Darcy gasped, pulling the hands away and twirling around. Her bright pink painted lips smiled up at him in delight. “What are you doing here?”

Loki stood in front of her in his usual green and black leather getup and grinning like a Cheshire cat, green eyes twinkling with mischief as he gave a exaggerated bow.

“Your mother invited me to partake in some mischief … and brunch” Loki told her, while he took a hold a hold of her hand and made her twirl around once more to study her “The dress suits you very well, you'll make a fine damsel in distress.”

“Oh nose!” Darcy pointed a finger at his face. “Not you too.” she grumped, pouting her complaint at him with an overly dramatic groan of annoyance. Her nose wrinkled in a cute way. “Why is everyone so interested in my love life all of sudden?”

Loki laughed cheerfully and gently tugged on her arm to pull her towards the hallway … only to run face first into a large wall of fur.

Spot.

The large three headed dog considered him, the growling stopped but the three heads attention clearly was on the Jotun Sorcerer.

“Hello Spot,” Loki's smile turned wicked as he lets go of her arm and smirked up at the enormous dog, green magic playing over his long and slender fingertips. “I see you've grown quite a bit!”

Darcy, knowing both Loki and Spot, moved out of the way.

Just in time too.

As Spot jumped at Loki the moment she was at a safe distance, a playful growl escaping his snouts as Loki shifted and grew taller, skin turning a dark blue, green eyes switching to red within the spawn of a second as he allowed the dog to wrestle him down.

Spot's tail swished from one side to the other like a dangerous whip, nothing more than a blur.

A single pair of hands was not enough to keep away all three of the Spot's heads, and soon enough a growling and cursing Loki was covered in dog slobber. He made a double of himself and it jumped on Spot's back in an attempt to distract the Underworld Dog, two of Spot's heads did in fact turn their attention to the new target, while one still happily slobbed at Loki's face.

Selene jumped in one spot and yipped at them furiously, the entire fluffy ball of fur shook and trembled from enthusiasm.

“Come on Selene, while the boys play we ladies can go and get breakfast,” Darcy informed the Pomeranian while she turned away from the two of them, to walk outside.

The small creature instantly stopped her chastising the two idiots and turned elegantly, snout arrogantly tilted upward as she sauntered after Darcy like a true lady, towards food.

~~~

Brock slammed his fist down on the desk.

“What do you mean you need my traveling pass A38?” he roared at the Harpy, she looked at him quite startled, as he growled at her. “I picked a number. I waited in line for almost two hours,”

“Sir, _please_. I know it isn't easy to die, but there is no need to get aggressive. I'm just doing my job,” she chirped at him, blue feathers ruffled in an attempt to appear more threatening or in frustration, he couldn't tell.

“Right … I'm sorry. Truly,” he muttered an apology, the stress of the situation had gotten the better of him. “It's been a long night. I didn't mean to go off on you like that. I'm just … really stressed at the moment”

The blue feathered Harpy chirped in sympathy.

He moved a hand over his face in frustration, grabbed the bridge of his nose and applied some pressure in an attempt to ease the ever growing tension. The Underworld was worse than Shield, where had all the good monsters gone? The one's who attacked you? This paper juggling was more exhausting than a few hours of good fighting. Brock applied more pressure and forced himself to inhale deeply and relax.

“It's alright sir. Now, as I was saying, you need the traveling pass A38. You should have gotten it on floor 33, Counter C. Without it I cannot allow you to travel to the castle,” she informed him.

Brock once more took a deep breath and then turned his head skywards briefly.

“By Gaia,” he mumbled before turning back to the Harpy to glance at her name tag, putting on his pest charming smile he questioned, “Miss Hāpī, do you have a map I could borrow?”

~~~

Brock arrived on floor 33. The lobby was gigantic …

There was a counter A

There was a counter B

But there was NO FUCKING COUNTER C.

“I swear this place,” he growled, trailing off. His hands twitched, he longed to draw his sword and take his frustration out on one of the strange crystal plant thingies that grew around here since neither Thor nor Steve were available for some good workout.

He eyed the crystal thoughtfully, wondering if it was important.

It glowed an eerie blue as if sensing his thoughts.

Brock let out a loud, rumbling snarl of frustration and the nearby shade of a dead woman walked past him faster, obviously thinking him dangerous.

~~~

“What do you mean you're keeping Brock busy with the madness of bureaucracy?” Darcy questioned her mother while taking a sip of her ambrosia.

Her mother twirled her own glass of ambrosia elegantly before she leaned back in her chair and shrugged innocently, “Oh you know, the usual.”

Her long wavy hair fell loosely around her shoulders, bright pink blossoms and small leaves were woven into her long tresses and a crown of diamonds peeked out from in between the flowers. Her mother's lips were painted a bright pink and her blue eyes crinkled in open amusement. Her dress was a soft blue and styled very similar to Darcy's own gown. If one wouldn't know, both of them could pass as twins.

A few moments later Hades strolled into the dining room and Loki almost choked on his drink, as he switched into a female wood nymph in a matter of seconds while her father moved to the head of the table.

“Good morning my flowers,” Hades greeted them, bending down to kiss Persephone's cheek affectionately.

“Morning love,” Persephone purred, grabbed a hold of his collar to pull him into a more intimate kiss. Darcy rolled her eyes at the familiar sight and continued sipping her ambrosia while her father wrapped his arms around her mother and easily pulled her from her seat and into his arms.

He held her gently, like a delicate flower, and with two strides of his legs he sat down in his own chair, draping Persephone across his lap. He whispered something into her ear and Persephone giggled.

The display of her parent's love was a sight for sore eyes, every fool could see they adored each other deeply and passionately. Thus Darcy said nothing, only smiled softly while she waite for the servants to bring the actual food, now that the King had made his appearance.

“Who's your friend?” Hades questioned tipping his head towards Loki with a blue glint in his otherwise dark eyes. Loki sunk into his chair a little farther, shifting nervously.

He may be a prince twice over, but Hades was a King, God of the dead, King of the Underworld and his ancient power moved around him like a cold, dangerous blanket and could rip his soul from his very being faster than he could blink.

“I'm Lori, Sir … uhm I mean King … your highness!? The Lady Persephone, the Queen, invited me to join her and Darcy … I mean the Princess in their shopping today,” Loki stuttered innocently, fluttering his eyelashes while he played with a lock of long, ebony hair.

Blue flowers were growing entwined about his hair and his usual leather garb had been replaced by a flowing, floral green dress, he even was barefoot like nymphs usually were.

Hades quirked an eyebrow, and set out to skim through his newspaper whilst drinking both a cup of coffee and some ambrosia. All parties are quiet as they relax and revel in each other's company, nibbling on the delicacies brought by kitchen staff. It is not long before Hades gently moved his wife of his lap and stood. Planting another kiss on his beloved wife he grabbed a breakfast to go bag brought by a ghostly servant.

“I have some business to take care of today,” he informed his wife and daughter. His gaze roved lovingly over their faces, pleased to have his family together even for just a moment, before narrowing in on their guest.

Darcy tried not to be too obvious at her smirking delight at the growing unease across the Norse Prince's still feminine form as Hades casually shifted until he was standing right behind Loki.

“If anything happens to my flowers … I'm going to introduce you to Cerberus, Spot's father. He has quite the appetite. Are we clear, Loki?”

The implicit threat was rendered in such a calm, measured tone, made all the more sinister for its neutrality.

“Crystal,” Loki squeaked rather high, sinking further into his seat, and the blue flowers in his hair wilted and fell to the floor post haste, cowed.

“Good,” Hades drawled with a baring of teeth more than a smile. His head tilted once more, body turning to pin an admonishing gaze at Persephone.

“No destroying buildings,” he reminded her, the words and fond tone taking on the resigned air of an often repeated argument.

"Spoilsports," the Queen pouted bright pink painted lips at her husband and King.

~~~

“Hello, again Mister Rumlow,” Hāpī greeted the son of Ares upon his return.

Brock slumped into the uncomfortable chair in front of her counter.

“Hello," he responded glumly. Dark eyes suddenly sharpened, honing in on her like a bird of prey and his voice went into a calm, lower rumble that screamed danger.

"Is it possible, that it escaped your memory, that as I am in fact still alive that I have to apply and fill out the applications for the traveling pass A38 at this location? With you?” he questioned, his tone never changing a pitch.

“Ohh,” the harpy grimaced at the sudden formality. “Hāpī forgot," she chirped.

Like a fucking bird! Gah! He fought harpies before, nasty little beasts, scratching at you with their razor sharp claws … but Hāpī, she had the face of a blameless baby angel and was smiling at him innocently, her blue feathers ruffling while she shuffled her wings.

He didn't trust her one whit.

“Hāpī will make up for it” she promised.

Brock's eyes narrowed at the sudden child-like regression in speech. He didn't bother to hide the sneering curl of his lips over teeth that suddenly seemed just a touch sharper. Nor did he tone down the sudden predatory gleam that seemed to make his dark brown eyes glow with a blood red touch of power.

After a moment, he blinked, abruptly ending the intense stare off, and he took a breath, slowly exhaling before he even responded. The small harpy was clearly uncomfortable, a petite little thing she was, hollow bones so easily broken and she seemed to sense that he was simply done with this paperwork bullshit.

“Yes please, it is truly important that I see Hades as soon as possible. As I have explained earlier, a demigod has been kidnapped, her name is Darcy and I really do not want anything to happen to her,” he told her softly.

“The princess?” Hāpī squeaked surprised, flapping her wings.

“Well I guess. She is Hades daughter,” Brock spoke slowly, frowning a little.

He hadn't really thought about it before, did the Underworld consider Darcy a princess? Brock wasn't really considered anything but another demigod, just another of the many offspring his sire Ares begat. Perhaps it was different for the children of the Underworld God. But now that he thought about it, he had never heard of a child of Hades before until meeting Darcy.

“Here is your traveling pass,” the Harpy told him, practically shoving the dark platinum card into his hands. “You must hurry though. The boss spends a lot of time in the office,” Hāpī warned him.

“Thank you,” he answers her, already hurrying off.

As soon as he is out of sight she slumped in relief, trying to sleek down her ruffled feathers, she picked up her phone and dials a number.

“Hāpī send the charming demigod on his way” she chirped into the phone obviously pleased with herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to my Beta. I agree with you, this is the best chapter so far and it wouldn't have been possible without you  
> Thank you so much [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
>   
> I wonder who of you understands the A38 reference


	10. Hydra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Brock and Darcy meet again 🥰

Brock was finally on his way to the castle. It loomed ahead of him and even though he really didn't want to face the Underworld God, he saw no other choice if he wanted serious help in finding Darcy in this whole new world filled with paper-shoveling monsters and ghosts and whatnot.

He had seen creatures he had no idea what they even were, even some of those ghostly shades looked different. Some where green, some more bluish others looked almost normal but were slightly transparent.

His internal musing had distracted him from sensing any kind of danger as rather suddenly, out of nowhere roots and vines shot out of the solid ground and wrapped around him tightly. Brock tried to rip them off but they were surprisingly resilient. The more he struggled the tighter they got. The vine and root combination trapped him in a small structure, barely big enough for his size, before easing up slightly. Vines were wrapped around his arms from the wrist to up to his shoulders, holding him tightly in place while the whole structure was dragged underground.

He cursed silently.

Underground in the Underworld … that couldn't be good, right?

Brock wondered briefly if he had triggered some kind of trap.

What felt like moments later the vines and root structure burst free from the earth again, and he was literally thrown out. Rolling with the momentum to avoid the brunt of the fall, he collided with a tree and immediately sunk into the surprisingly swampy ground beneath.

Muck and sludge squelched between his fingers, and he wrinkled his nose at both the smell and wet texture he now found himself in. An unmistakable hissing sound had him instantly alert and scrambling quickly to his feet, hiding behind a thick tree. Eyes wide and flashing red, his senses prickling with imminent danger, he hastily grabbed a branch and pulled himself up into the tree, climbing higher and higher until its thick foliage hid him from view. He was just in time.

Brock stared at the scene below him in a mixture of disbelief and a sudden urge for bloodshed. Slithering its way through the foggy gloom of the murky swamp, a large multi-headed creature wove through swamp and trees alike with focused intent.

A Hydra?!

This was … _great_!

Finally, something he could hit! That was exactly what he needed right now.

Moving as silently as possible from one branch to another, he watched the Hydra prowl about, before it ventured back to a slightly elevated piece of solid ground within this swamp. Stone steps, the color of bleached bone and limestone and liberally adorn in mud and grime, lead up to a wide circular platform, any observer's keen eye automatically drawn to what else lay on the platform.

Brock sucked in a breath of air in shock.

Sprawled out on a large stone of the same bleached coloring as the stairs was Darcy, her wrists bound by thick ropes to either side of what was obviously a crude altar. Her head was lolled to the side, eyes closed in either sleep or unconsciousness for which he was rather thankful for it meant she didn't move or scream when the Hydra nudged her with one of its nine heads.

Thanks Gaia the Hydra apparently wasn't interested in making a meal out of the bound demigoddess. Simply curious, but Brock knew that could very well change, and quickly. That at least gave him enough time to think this through. Despite what people may think of him, he wasn't a complete moron. He just liked fighting, alright? As a son of Ares, he was extremely well suited to the type of violence that existed within the Deadly Dances. But that didn't mean he was a brainless thug, he had earned his place as Strike Commander just fine.

No cutting off heads!

That was the first and most important thing when dealing with a Hydra, a real one at least; there might have been some cutting off heads when he and the Avengers took down the organization Hydra. It had been utterly frustrating when his half brother escaped them, enormously lucky, questionable lucky, almost like a godly intervention, but he wasn't fool enough to voice his suspicion without concrete proof.

Brock snapped himself back on track.

Kill the Hydra, save Darcy, and figure out who had dragged him right here to do just that. And how convenient was that? Brock idly moved a hand across one of the many vines growing all over the tree and focused on it. Vines just like the ones which dragged him here. The Underworld Queen Persephone was a Spring goddess, wasn't she? Daughter of Demeter and Zeus, the bastard who got around. Was it possible that the wife of Hades had brought him here? That would be utterly strange, considering that most of the time the godly wives got really angry at their husbands infidelities and despised all illegitimate children. Just thinking about what Hera did to some of those poor women and their demigod offspring made him shudder.

Hadn't the Queen of the Underworld turned a woman into a plant? Or had it been a nymph, he couldn't quite remember. Was it possible that she had brought Darcy here? That wasn't making sense either, why would she bring her to her husband's domain and then send him to rescue her?

The Hydra continued to prowl around the premises of its tiny clearing, hissing while some of the heads snapped their jaws into the air, others were looking around. It obviously knew something was here, but it hadn't found him so far.

How had Heracles done this again? Because he had few options right now. Cutting off the heads was out of question, he had no fire or acid to seal the wounds and prevent more heads from spawning. Sadly enough he didn't posses godly strength either. Neither was there was a convenient pillar he could drop on the Hydra anyway.

What should he do?

Brock glanced around and took in the sturdy looking vines that grew all over the trees. They were strong enough to easily hold him in place, he studied them carefully, letting his gaze wander from the Hydra to the thick vines.

Now that was something he could use, trap and choke that beast and then go for the heart. It wasn't the best plan, but sometimes simple is what was needed to win the day. The only thing he needed now was a distraction because the Hydra would spot him as soon as he moved out of his hiding place and he needed some time to gather suitable vines and set a trap.

As if sensing his need for a distraction, Darcy began to stir, once more drawing the Hydra's attention.

Brock forced himself not to think about what would happen if the Hydra decided to attack Darcy now that she was awake, there was no way he would reach her in time if that happened. Hoping for the best and refusing to pray to his father or any other divine relations, he concentrated on moving as silently as possible, testing the thick looking vines.

Darcy groaned softly as she slowly woke up. It took her surprisingly little time to realize what had happened, the harsh feeling of well-built rope around her wrists and the biting cold of stone underneath her were a huge help, too.

The hissing though, that had her eyes fly open in alarm. No denizen of the Underworld would ever fail to recognize that particular rattling call.

A small startled scream escaped her lips when her eyes focused on the many heads that hovered right above her. Three of the nine were focused on her and instinct had her attempting to scramble away as far as the rope around her wrists allowed. It was to touch of a fourth head nudging at her back that had her flinching violently.

Oh, Mother, no! What have you done?!

Out of the corner of her eyes she thought she saw Brock of all people slip from a tree, carrying long vines, and disappear into the swamp around them. Blinking only brought with it the murk of fog and shadow. Whether or not Brock was truly here, it didn't help the fact that there was a freaking Hydra hovering right above her. She hoped dearly that there was some kind of plan, because death by Hydra due to weird parental version of a joke was ridiculous.

Tugging at the ropes she grimaced when she saw it light up golden, of course her mother wouldn't do things halfway.

"I'd haunt you in the afterlife but that would be redundant," she snarled at the cursed creature above her. Matricide was looking to be rather appealing. Another nudge and her focus went to the threat surrounding her.

“Umm, who's a good little Hydra?” she asked with fake cheerfulness and one of the heads perked up and came closer in child like eagerness, the other heads grumbled at it in a scolding manner. Ah, she thought to herself, she had found the idiot of the group.

Each head of the Hydra was easily twice her body length in size, sporting jaws brimming with row upon row of razor sharp teeth and glowing yellow reptilian eyes. It was very real fear and fright that had her whimpering when a few heads snarled and moved closer, sniffing her over. The whuffling inhalations would be cute on a dog, but on a beast that was seeing if she was higher on the menu than Kung Pao chicken? Not cute. Nope, not cute at all.

“Hey you ugly overgrown snake!”

That was definitely Brock's voice taunting from somewhere in the shadows, a stone whistling through the air and struck the eye of one of the heads, the whole beast's body recoiled at the unexpected onslaught. A guttural howl of pain broke the stillness, the neck of the injured head shook in an attempt to ease it's discomfort.

If she hadn't been so alarmed at the moment she might have applauded Brock's aim.

Seven heads and one pained one twined about one another, snarling and hissing, in the direction Brock appeared to be at. The dumb head number nine gave her one last sad glance before the Hydra as a whole dashed after Brock.

Brock who was leaving her!

For the longest period of time after, there was nothing but her nerves and ever growing anxiety as she twitched at the slightest sound. The unnatural stillness of the swamp was broken by all the hissing, snarling, growling and shouting from the surrounding woods. Darcy suddenly wished for some kind of noise, as any sounds of battle had stopped some minutes earlier, aside from the lap of water against the shoreline. The silence was clawing at her heart with icy cold paws.

“Brock!” she cried in relief as she saw the demigod emerge from the swamp. There were no words to describe the joy she felt in the moment. Seeing him splashing and stumbling his way through the swamp and up to the platform.

“Hey princess,” he cheekily grinned down at her. Exhaustion pulled at the corner of his eyes, and he's covered in blood, grime and some kind of green glob she doesn't even want to know about. But he is the most breathtaking and welcoming sight she had ever seen to that point.

“You're bleeding,” she told him breathless when he leaned over her with an arrogant smirk and stole a kiss. This wasn't a elevator make out kiss either, oh no! This was a demand, a sensually silent conversation between lips and tongue and stolen breath that somehow incorporated "Hey!" and "Thank Gaia!" and "Are you okay?" and "You're safe" and “I think I might love you” all at once.

When he moved back she tried to follow his mouth but was halted at the ropes still binding her person. The wicked gleam, the tongue swiping across his lips, the sinful chuckle at her predicament as he gave the ropes a playful tug with a well meaning leer. That... did things for her. Her pale cheeks flamed up and his smirk widened. Wow, what a way to find out that she apparently liked to get tied up. Or would like it, in different circumstances with this man in particular.

That man hummed in agreement, fumbling with the ropes that bound her and the kisses he nipped at regular intervals to her person. “Monster slaying and saving the damsel. You own me at least two more make-out sessions,” he rumbled at her jokingly, but she can clearly hear just how tired he is.

“Can I haggle the price up to four make out sessions?” she bartered teasingly and his mouth quirked into a smile. A muted flash of light across a blade, and the first rope fell from her wrist. Finally, she sat up, moving a hand across Brock's cheek, able to now get a good look at him. There were a few gaping holes in his armor and blood was oozing out of them.

“Brock, you're bleeding!” she gasped once more, moving her hand against his ruined armor. Something clenched underneath her sternum between her ribs, and her breath caught painfully as she took in the damage close up.

He grunted in pain. “Give me a few hours. I'll be good as new,” he promised, finally managing to open the ropes on her other wrist.

She swung her legs of the side of the altar and moved her hands around his neck gently, his brown eyes are still shining bright red and he looked so utterly tired that she wasn't sure how he was still standing.

“Thank you, for coming after me” she told him genuinely, leaning in to kiss him. She could become so addicted to his taste, his scent, his touch. She was trembling with the need to hold this bruised man closer.

Despite it being a set up by her mother she really appreciated that he had come for her, it was incredibly sweet and brave … and stupid, but she would concentrate on the sweet and brave for now.

“I'm ruining your dress princess,” he mumbled against her lips, moving his arms around her never the less, drenching the dress in blood and smearing who knows what of grime and dirt on it.

“Fuck that dress,” Darcy cursed with a smile he chased with his tongue, her tongue tasting of the finest ambrosia.

“I dunno, it's rather pretty for a dress but I really tend more towards at least slightly humanoid females, you know?” he joked lightly after pulling back for a breath, and she snorted into the least bloody part of his shoulder.

She shouldn't find the situation so damn sexy, he smelled of sweat and blood and ugh (let's not go down that path) not to mention that he was bleeding and she would probably let him take her right here and now.

“I'd really love to bend you over that altar right now,” he brushed his lips against hers. Damn, they even thought alike.

“But I gotta sit down for a while.”

The frustration was obvious in his voice and she assisted him as he sat himself down, leaning against the altar stone and as he closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

“Brock … are you sure you are alright?” she questioned him, shouldn't they at least apply pressure? The armor was so tangled and jagged from teeth and claw marks she didn't even know where to start.

“Had worse,” he informed her and quirked an eye open. “You're worried about me princess?”

Well, there is the teasing and smug bastard in his voice again, that let her know he was alright, just very tired.

“Mhm,” Darcy affirmed with a playful hum. “Who else is going to carry me through that swamp?” Darcy inquired and he chuckled and then winced.

In the end she made him lie down on the ground, placing his head in her lap she stroked her fingers across his face and scalp in gentle circular movements.

The only sound that could be heard was the natural humming and buzzing of the swamp's creatures, the soft splashing of the water against the shoreline and Brock's even breathing.

“I could get used to that,” he murmured drowsily, clearly enjoying her attention.

He almost startled her, she had thought he had fallen asleep. Amazingly, at least to Darcy, by now most of the bleeding had stopped without any outward help and she wondered if it was the same for all sons of Ares.

“I'd make a joke about how we would practically be married if this was still ancient Greece but I fear you would take that serious,” Darcy voiced softly. His thick, curly hair made pleasing handfuls, and it was adorable how his face leaned in to chase her touch.

Brock's eyes slid open, still blazing a startling red when she expected a return of his normal dark brown, and he grins at her in a predatory way.

“I guess we are huh?” he smirked far too smugly for lying on the ground with his head in her lap, bloody and exhausted. “My little wifey,” Brock teased, moving a hand up to capture one of hers, he brought it to his lips to kiss her fingers. Licking his lips right afterwards as if to savor her taste.

“See, this is exactly what I'm talking about,” she huffed but still a smile found its way onto her lips. She would never admit that her lungs caught at the realization that Brock was being entirely too serious about this matter. “And really, first princess and now wifey? Can we not go back to the good old times where you still called me sweetheart?”

“We could,” he chuckled deeply, this time not even wincing, he still had a hold of her hand and had a lopsided smirk on his face."But I like 'wifey' just fine."

"I, do not!"

Hades' voice boomed in the clearing, eerily echoing in the sudden silence as the Underworld held her breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another AMAZING chapter all thanks to my Beta  
> I don't know what I did before you! [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
>   
> Insert evil laughter here 😎  
> It's Hades! Poor Brock


	11. The best laid plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A whole new chapter. My writing time has been cut short 😭

Hades' disapproving voice had Darcy felt like a teenager caught making out in the backseat of a car by her parent.

Brock on the other hand, had jumped to his feet faster than she could blink, gently but firmly maneuvering her behind him with one hand while the other twirled a sword to a ready position. Her hands clutched his ruined armor automatically, body pressing against his as she peered around him to take in her father.

Hades stared blankly at the newly armed intruder before baring his teeth. A raised brow in contemplation, and in a calm and measured tone amplified by the wicked blue gleam in his eyes, he addressed Ares’ son.

“Have you really just drawn a sword on me? I am the God of the Dead. I am the King of this Realm, young Ares’ Son.”

Hades is floating above the murky water, shadows and mist twirling around him ominously. Sometimes the transparent blue or green of souls passing through and around the Lord of the Dead could be seen as shadowy faces or vaguely humanoid forms. The grisly sight, made all the more chilling by the muted screams of the shades, made the form-fitting black Italian cut business suit all the more surreal.

“With all due respect,” Brock hedged, eyeing her father skeptically. “It could very well have been you who abducted Darcy and set the Hydra loose on her. So I'm sure you understand my cautiousness.”

Eyes locked with unwavering precision on the levitating form before him, Brock continued to guard Darcy’s body with his own. Automatically swaying with her movements while keeping himself firmly between her and the threat.

There was a moment of silence while her father regarded Brock, allowing a thoughtful expression to pass over his features, however brief.

“That,” her father drawled, “I can understand.”

Hades nodded his head slightly in acknowledgment before baring his teeth again, and Darcy shuddered as she noted they were definitely sharper than usual. Her father was angry, furious even and she wondered if he was more furious at her mother or at Brock. He hovered closer and paused a short distance in front of the platform, his whole aura and demeanor still ominous and threatening Enough that Brock's grip on his sword tightened and he gently nudged her farther backwards, she followed his guidance without really thinking about it.

“I can even forgive your trespassing in my domain if you hand my daughter over now!” her father's tone of voice suggested that it was better to not disagree with him. For the first time since this male posturing began, Hades acknowledged his daughter, holding out a hand towards her. Darcy darts around Brock’s lean form without any hesitation, moving towards her father, only to be shocked again as she found herself being jerked back.

“No!” Brock pronounced soundly and she looked at the hand wrapped firmly about her bicep in confused surprise, his grip gentle but unyielding and pressing her closer to his own body.

“Brock,” Darcy tried softly to reason, tongue sneaking out to wet her lip nervously. “It's alright, he's my father; he didn't do this to me.”

A disbelieving snort from the man molding her against his side and a truly condescending arch of his brow had her huffing. Men, always thinking they were right, she thought to herself but still, he was trying to keep her safe from what he perceived as a threat. She tried gently tugging against the grip on her arm but his fingers just flexed against the soft muscle but otherwise didn’t move.

“Let me go with him.” she tried to bargain, a hand stroking his forearm in a soft squeeze. She gave him a gentle smile and turned wide blue eyes pleading upon him. Distantly, Brock noted that those damned eyes of hers sparkled like sapphires in the dimming twilight of the Underworld, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted now. Despite the fact that grime now covered her once glorious dress, and a few specks of blood and dirt had found their way onto her arms and face, she was easily the most breathtaking woman he had ever seen in his entire life.

“I'll make sure he will send you back.” she continued, sensing an opening and moving one hand against his cheek in a soft caress. Brock shifted his grip, fingers of his now free hand ghosting along her forearm before covering her delicate hand with his own, leaning into the touch. Darcy’s breath hitched as his gaze began softening ever so slightly.

“My daughter, now!” Hades demanded.

It was too much. Infuriated, it was too much to endure the sight of this rabid son of War all but mauling his beloved offspring; manhandling her as if she wasn’t the most precious treasure in existence. The rage of knowing his child had been in danger even for a moment, the relief of finding her safe, but mussed with the lumbering warmonger all but sprawled indecently upon her person and talking of marriage. As if his little flower were some prize and his _right reward_ …it was too much. The only thing that had kept him from ripping the mortal bastard's soul right out of his body was the fact that despite her completely disheveled appearance it was obvious that nothing of the more indecent nature had occurred.

Something wicked flashed through Brock's eyes and surely enough they were a startling red again, almost like dancing flames. Darcy was shocked to realize she hadn’t noticed they had been returning to their natural bronzed russet.

“Not until you explain how Darcy managed to get abducted, dragged to your realm, bound on an altar in a realm she should have been safe in as your daughter, trussed up as a little snack for a Hydra!” Brock demanded to know, there was enough rage and bloodlust in his voice to make Darcy flinch while his fingers easily shifting from her hand to grip the small wrist and keeping the young woman from returning to her father.

Hades’ eyes darkened to an eerie cobalt at the challenge. He was a king after all and not used to being questioned or disobeyed.

“I do not have to explain myself to a mortal bastard,” Hades sneered “Hand her over Crossbones, this is your last warning!” By this time his voice is hardly more than a growl; dark shadows are playing across his feet and causing the water to ripple and splash. His suit is melting away to a shadowy armor but there is no weapon in his hands, yet, and once again his arm extended toward Darcy, palm up.

“No, of course one of the high and mighty three doesn't have to explain why his daughter was in mortal danger,” Brock jeered and Darcy gasped, did he have a death wish?

“Brock,” she whispered softly, her voice drowned out by her father's.

“And what concern is my daughter's well being to you? You hold no relation to her, so you have no right to question my authority,” Hades asserted calmly, far too calmly for his earlier rage. He edged closer to them bit by bit, the shadows around them growing ever darker as his feet touched ground.

“Brock! Brock, please!” Darcy urged him, wide eyed and tugging fiercely. She was closer to a full blown panic than she had ever been in years. Evil alien elves pissing fire and destruction upon London? No big deal. Her father heading toward critical mass and Brock egging him on in a fit of testosterone? Problem. Very, very big problem.

What were they thinking?

“This is madness!” Darcy exhaled sharply, fighting tears of anxious frustration and hoping that the movie reference would snap Brock out of whatever stupor he was in. His red gaze barely flicked out and swept over her briefly, sending a shiver down her back from the intensity of his stare before returning to the furious deity before him.

“According to Rights of Acquisition, I am within my rights to demand her as my wife, as an immediate reward for labor rendered. My labor is to be noted as the rescuing of her person from the imminent life threatening presence of the Hydra. As her husband, I would hold plenty of relations then,” Brock's voice is cool yet mocking, meant to needle Hades, but it's like he slapped her himself.

Darcy recoiled from him in complete shock, he couldn't be serious?! Was he serious? Oh, shit, he _was_ serious, that bastard! His fingers tightened around her wrist, refusing to let her go and she stared at him in disbelief. The first stirrings of anger, crackling and buzzing like building electricity, started to break through the shock and disbelief that had numbed her since she awakened on an altar to impending death by fang.

“Old laws,” her father shrugged a little, which somehow looked very sinister in the way his dark armor and shadows move around him. “No one has claimed the Rights of Acquisition in millennia as mortals tell time. And you are mistaken, former S.T.R.I.K.E Commander Brock Rumlow, that you have earned the Rite of Acquisition. Neither I, nor my Queen, or any of my Court requested your assistance in _any_ matter. As Darcy’s father, it was _my_ right and privilege to protect my offspring from the threat against the Tower she resided in and bring her to my Realm. It is _my_ right to reward as I deem acceptable, and you were never invited, nor thought of, for any aid. Of your own volition, you terrorized my citizens and invaded my domain. _UNINVITED._ You have no rights to any spoils, much less my daughter’s hand in union.”

“True, but the gods still own me a favor for my services as a spy, and it was Zeus who declared that I could ask for anything I desired! You should remember that, you were there when you and your brothers made the deal with me all those years ago,” Brock shrugged as well, a satisfied smirk plastered on his lips.

Between one heartbeat to the next, her father is just _there_ in Brock's face. Like a dark and deathly cloud of rage.

“Ask for anything else,” he snarled a warning to the demigod. The illusion of human normalcy was stripped raw, he's more of a shadowy horror at this point. Skin black as pitch, cobalt blue eyes glowing neon in tune with the building power smothering the surrounding air. Although he is her father she flinched when the seething roil of power prickled against her senses like the sharp drag of claws down her soul.

The swamp around the trio has become absent of all sound. Even the mist hovering over the murky water had turned dark and still, not even the water rippled against the shoreline anymore. All was still in the Underworld.

“No,” is Brock's simple answered after a moment to collect himself and breathe. “No,” he repeated more firmly. “I don't think so.”

“I will make your afterlife unbearable,” Hades promised,

“Then I better enjoy my time alive then, huh?” Brock taunted, stepping back with sword raised mostly to gesture tugging Darcy along with each retreat backward. “But thank you, I now know that it wasn't you who abducted her and chained her up as a Hydra snack.”

Clearly pleased with himself thinking to have outsmarted the Underworld God into revealing that he meant no harm to Darcy.

“Would have been a shame if my father in law did not only try to kill me but also my wifey,” he continued with an arrogant twist to his lips, and a mockingly cheerful tone. A twist of his wrist, and his sword is sheathed and a small vial is magicked from somewhere in his ruined armor in its place. The vial was filled with a hazy, metallic blue liquid. “See ya!”

With a dramatic heave, the vial smashed into the stone just in front of Darcy and himself. Magic and winds clouds up the same smoky haze of the liquid, swallowing his daughter and the accursed Son of Ares, and there are two less people in the middle of the Hydra’s swamp.

Hades roared in rage; pure, unadulterated rage. Power lashed out after the demigod and his daughter have disappeared, and there were no trees standing in the immediate vicinity of the small plot of ground bearing his daughter’s altar. The water was still agitated as he lets out a final angry rumble, not even turning when the familiar quiet footfalls of his wife approach him, her tiny feet making soft tapping noises on the murky swamp water. For one of the few times in their existence as husband and wife, Persephone’s presence did not soothe his temper, it further blackened. The ground beneath his feet charred as the plants began to wither and decompose, even the brackish swamp water began to recede as it was evaporated and more land was revealed. The stone upon which he stood began to crack and crumble into dust; the altar did not fare any better, cracking into ruin in the face of the King and Lord of the Underworld’s grief.

“I hope you know what you are doing,” anguish made him choke each word as if knives were piercing his flesh. A hollow began to gape open in the Darcy-shaped space in his soul; closing his eyes and gritting fangs at his wife’s tentative touch.

A strangled gasp made both of them look up to see Loki struggling his way through the swampy water. He looked a mess and was rubbing the rope burns gracing his throat.

“Never again,” he groused throatily, “Ask me to turn into a Hydra for you!”

Loki sat himself on the decaying remains of a large root and leaned against a tree, head lolling back a bit while he sighed tiredly.

“He almost really choked me. I hope those plans of Zeus's vaults are correct!”, Loki questioned.

“Of course they are!” Persephone chirped with a pleased smile.

~~~

The moment the magic dissipated, her small fists beat furiously against his chest without any real effect. Crying in frustration and despair, she pushed away from him as soon as they touched solid ground once more. The lush green clearing they stood in gave her momentary pause. Cypress trees grew around them and the siren call of the sea could be heard a little distance away.

The calming sound of waves striking upon the shore, the seagulls screeching their never ending gluttony, and the starting crescendo of the crickets evening concerto instantly soothed the tension that had built within him the moment he discovered Darcy missing from her apartment. The brine tang of the ocean, the loving caress of warmed air and the scent of _life_ and _nature_ knocked into him like a welcomed lover. Brock’s shoulders dropped and instantly relaxed as if a great weight was tossed aside.

Darcy on the other hand was fuming.

“You!” she snarled impressive for such a tiny thing like she was, angry tears brimming in her eyes but she refused to let fall. “I hate you!”

“I know,” he told her and moved forward, grasping her hand once more, even though she tried to pull back in an attempt to avoid him. “And you have every right to,” he agreed with her, even as he pulled her closer as gently as possible despite her struggle against his grip; she obviously didn't fear him. She just didn't want him close at the moment, stressed by the events and no doubt furious with him for acquiring her hand with favors owned, giving her no choice in the matter

“Damn straight!” she hissed out a disgusted breath at her inability to escape his grasp, and glared mulishly to the side, her whole body trembling in rage.

“I apologize,” Brock crooned, moving a hand towards her face and brushing away her angry tears with a single finger. “I needed your father to tell the truth and angering him seemed like the easiest option, he hates me and obviously didn't appreciate me calling you 'wifey'.”

“You don't say?” she snarled and tried to jerk her face away from his touch but Brock was persistent, his hold flexing against hers, once, twice, before relaxing slightly.

“The video only showed a dark form taking you to the Underworld. I was worried, scared shitless, I had just found you … only for you to be snatched away right in front of my nose and when I finally found you, you were chained up, like a little snack,” he purred the last, flirty.

Darcy scoffed, rolling her eyes, and crossed her arms in front of her chest, turning away from him even though she was still captured within his arms.

“That doesn't excuse the fact that you bartered with my father for my hand like I'm some kind of goat!” she growled at him.”No, not even bartered, you _demanded!_ Using a _Favor_! Like I'm not even a person, just some object to be won and gloated over, passed from Hades to you just like that! That hurts! Can you imagine how utterly humiliating that is for me?”

“I can't, I'm sorry.” he moved one arm around her waist and used the other to ghost over the skin of her neck, pulling her hair aside to kiss along the curve of her shoulder and up to her neck. She is more than a little stiff at first but he was persistent. Soft murmurs of apology, open and closed mouth kisses down her neck, blunt teeth nipping at the most supple skin he’d ever sampled and languid, heated flickers of his tongue to soothe the temporary sting, the way he hoped to soothe her temper.

He kept back a smirk, knowing it wasn’t appropriate for the moment, as despite her mind and heart being absolutely, femininely furious, her body twitched and melted into his touch.

“Brock, I'm angry,” she reminded him a little breathy and he chuckled. Oh, yes, she kept tensing in renewed anger and then relaxing in his hold the next moment, under his touch, a physical manifestation of the war going on between her heart and her head. Victory. She was his, she just hadn’t let the rest of her catch up yet, but Brock just _knew_.

“I'm willing to grovel,” he freely admitted, smugly before leaning his head on her shoulder with a tired sigh. He took a moment just to breathe, and feel her rabbit fleeting heart against his chest, knowing she was finally safe, and in his arms. “But, we should get going. I'm still bloody and exhausted from fighting that Hydra and you can be angry with me once we are safe and warm and most importantly clean!”

“And how exactly do you suggest doing that? In the middle of a forest?” she questioned snippy while gesturing around. She didn’t even pay that much attention as he gently turned her to face the southern part of what she didn’t yet know was an island.

“Well we should get to the house first,” he said teasingly and in a sudden burst of playful energy swept her off her feet, bridal style. “Got to carry my bride home, yes?”

A rosy flush blushed its way across her fair skin, and his smile turned carnal, pleased with himself and utterly charmed at this unexpected shyness. It was cute.

“Brock, I'm still very, very angry with you and no amount of flirting will change that fact!” Darcy told him, voice soft but firm, her blue eyes shining with fury, even as she attempted to turn her head away from him once more. It was harder for her to ignore the play of muscles bracing her against a solid chest, the feel of his forearm under her legs and bracing her back. Every step he took toward the tree line in a path only he knew just served to emphasize to sheer power that was carting her about. She was not impressed, oh no she was definitely not! Absolutely not!

“Mhm,” he hummed in affirmation, nodding his head. “Tell me all about it once you're clean and safely tucked away and I'll do my best to apologize and grovel.” his soft brown eyes flickered a bright red for a moment.

“At least tell me where we are and what that blue smoke was?” He chuckled again as her curiosity began to override her pique. “It got to be quite powerful to transport us out of my father's domain,” she mused thoughtfully.

“You’ll see, sweetheart, and did you really think I would go into the Underworld without a fail safe?” he goaded her. She finally looked up at the scruffy jawed face above her, ready to sass back but any words she had stuttered as they made it through the last line of trees.

Momentarily blinded by sunlight, she squinted her eyes in an attempt to adjust to the sudden brightness after an evening spent in the Underworld’s twilight and the recent dappled light of the forest. When she was finally able to focus, eyes fell onto a lovely villa down below, made out of white stone and surrounded by a large garden.

“Welcome to **Ææa,** little wifey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and a huge THANK you to [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay) the most awesome Beta/Cowriter ever!
> 
> Did you catch the "This is Sparta!" reference?  
> I giggled so much.
> 
> You guys didn't really think that Persephone would set a Hydra loose on her daughter did you???


	12. Circe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More secrets are revealed! Is it normal that I'm so excited by my own story???

The wide dirt path upon which Brock and his young bride now stood, lead towards a large archway, which stood invitingly open, and apparently was the only entrance to the property in front of them. The dirt pathway ended at the archway and was replaced by a cobblestone road that lead through the rows of trees and towards the generous courtyard of the villa. Instead of a fancy fountain, the middle of the courtyard held a large and beautiful bed of herbs, carefully tended and arranged neatly.

The villa itself appeared as a mixture of ancient Greek and Italian, with wide archways and columns. The walls of a smaller side wing were covered in a lush green ivy, a small charming pond could be seen, a heron trying his luck in the wadeable part. A comfortable looking bench was situated under a particular old tree, a blanket thrown over its side. A pair of gardening tools and sunhat lay forgotten on it.

Yet for all the beauty on display, Darcy stayed silent of body, breath, and soul. Not a word spilled forth from lips, not yet even the slightest of sound escaped her while he stood there, arms still holding her captured against his muscular frame. Were he not able to see and feel the rise of chest against his own, he would dare to say she wasn't even breathing.

A shiver snaked through his spine and gut; it wasn't right for the normally vivacious and sassy woman he had set out to charm and seduce to be so still or quiet. Even when she wasn't speaking, she was humming or swaying to some tune the rest of the world missed out on, a smile always on her lips to brighten everyone's day with cheerfulness that was utterly contagious. The little snacks, goodies and baked goods, which she seemed to always have upon her person and which she shared with anyone who crossed her path, her very happy nature, it was replaced by this silent ghost of a woman.

Handmade pots with flowers and herbs alike were scattered around the many pathways between the trees and flower beds. If it wasn't a prison, she might have found it beautiful.

Her senses prickled.

There was magic in the air.

Her awareness was almost assaulted by the sheer amount and almost sentient presence, as if the very ground and surrounding clearing was brimming to capacity and inundated down to the very core of every speck of dirt, rock, and flora. It weaved around the pair like a soft summer breeze, well hidden and with no malicious intent; it almost would have escaped her notice, while it brushed against her with child like curiosity.

Had she been lesser, she would have. It would have been just one more curiosity in the increasingly fucked up situation she found herself an unwitting protagonist of. All that rang through her head was that Gods-be-damned to Tartarus phrase that shattered her world.

A Favor of the Gods.

She blinked away angry tears once more, so desperate for the illusion of control she bit her tongue to stave off the helpless tide of despair for just a moment longer.

A Favor of the Gods. What a joke! Collateral damage is more like it.

Turning her face away from what was apparently to become her new home, she buried her forehead into Brock's armor, ignoring the grime and dirt. Briefly her gaze passed over her own hands, drawn to her chest, because she refused to hold onto him. She didn't think she had enough self control to not do irreparable damage.

By the Fates, it would be so easy. With no more effort than to raise a hand to stroke fever warm skin, and pierce further than base flesh to seize his very soul. So easy, to follow the bright golden thread of life right of his captured fea to where his very essence was anchored to this plane of existence, to use her powers however briefly and bury her hand in his chest to just _pull it out_.

It would be so, so easy as to be pathetic.

Zeus himself sought to neuter her, so long ago. Like Icarus, her wings were torn asunder; huge gouges that others thought were the only pieces of her worthy of notice, of desire. But the fools were so intent on their success, at the destruction of her wings and the binding of her light, patting themselves on the back for their supposed dominion over her being. In that arrogance, they forgot she had claws and fang and a never ending well of darkness to draw upon. To rend, and destroy, and revel; to bare fang and claw and scorch a vengeance so powerful and horrible that no one else would dare to claim as a banal token her freedom that she held so dear.

How _dare_ he! How _could_ he?!

Tears of seething ire continued to fall unchecked, glittering like diamonds in the far too bright sunlight. Surely Apollo was mocking her, that rat ass.

And yet her hands did not move to strike down Brock.

Rage was an ugly thing, an insidious dark mirror of emotion that her new husband had more than enough for the both of them. No, despite her desire to strike him down, her hands were literally bound. If she did send him into the sweet oblivion of eternal sleep by disconnecting his soul from his body before its time, there was no telling what punishment Zeus would deal her … this time.

A favor of the gods was an ancient promise, drenched in the blood of all three brother gods and enforced by their combined powers. Once invoked, it could not be refused and all of the gods and their children were forced to oblige unless it brought direct harm to them.

Her hand in marriage would not be considered as harm brought to her. Not if Zeus could help it, the misogynistic, narcissistic, sexist prick. That bastard was probably rolling on a cloud in glee if he wasn't currently pounding some poor mortal woman.

She was trapped by a promise she did not consent to, by ancient magic, unable to refuse the boon he demanded. It did not matter how hard she wanted to smack him and his smug face. Heartbreakingly handsome face. Ugh!

Well, she would admit that it could have been worse. It could have been one of Zeus' many sons. She shuddered; if that had been the case she would have first ripped the poor fool's soul out and then taken a dagger to her own heart without a second thought.

“Darcy?”

Unable to stand this disquieting silence any longer, his voice is a soft baritone filled with worry, drawing her out of her thoughts and it is just now that she realized that he had crossed the distance, carried her all the way from the woods to the archway, leading into the property.

“Here we are,” is all he said while he strode through the entrance without further decorum.

Darcy felt the magic again, that sentient regard swirling around them, studying, testing, caressing them but withdrawing shortly afterwards, apparently having decided to be unbothered by their presence. What made her heart clench painfully with every step he took through the enchantingly beautiful gardens was the fact that he was about to carry her across the threshold.

A childish notion perhaps, but her father had always promised her that she would be allowed to chose her own suitor, that she wouldn't be forced to marry for political reasons. How she had imagined this day! A happy day! One that would have been filled with light and laughter and teasing flirtation, nerves and excited expectation ... a hand-fasting where her mother doted on her dressed to make Aphrodite weep in envy, and her father begrudgingly overseeing her protection passing from his hands to that her chosen partner. This was not how she had imagined being carried across the threshold, the symbolic outward showing of acceptance. There was no graceful acceptance of husbandry; this was captivity, bound by a favor of the gods, in a completely ruined dress and by a man who was so blinded by his desire for her that he failed to think about her feelings and if she desired him in the same way.

She had refused Apollo for exactly that reason, there was no love in the proposal, the Sun gods courtship offer had been commanded by his father Zeus. There had been no desire on his own part to actually go through with it, nor could she stand the arrogant prick that was almost as bad as Zeus himself. So with her father's blessing she had refused him, the end result having been to evoke Zeus' eternal wrath.

That had started the path leading her here, refusing one suitor of Zeus' convenience, only to end up with another, one she couldn't tell no, oh how cruel the Fates could be.

Having become somewhat attuned to the stunning enigma he still bore, Brock could sense the inner struggle and even if he couldn't, it would have been obvious in the way she held herself. Not even in the beginning, as he began his pursuit first in jest, then in captivating earnestness, had she ever refused his touch. Sensual by nature and far more tactile than current society felt acceptable for a woman unattached, Darcy had always had a confidence and no particular reason to deny any form of pleasure.

This quiet martyrdom was weird and so far out of character it was mind boggling. He honestly had expected more resistance, more screaming and name throwing. Perhaps even an attack, not this suddenly demure act. This woman tasered Thor! She fearlessly went eyes to eye with Nick Fury himself … for an I-Pod; if the male half of the Avengers and STRIKE and labs and support offices weren't at least in lust with her, they were definitely in a little lust and friend zoned. The woman networked by friendly socialization so effectively he didn't know one person at the Tower who hated her but he was biased, so there could be margin for some people to be moronic and not appreciate a good thing.

He wondered briefly if she was only doing this to throw him off, but those damned tears were real enough and every drop that fell from her lovely eyes and trailed down his armor had his heart clenching and whispering at him what an idiot he was.

This wasn't the _victory_ he had thought it was, not a war he had _won,_ not a _price_ he carried home.

This was a war he had _lost_.

This was his _bride_ , crying because he was carrying her home.

And he _somehow_ had to make it _right_.

By now he had reached the front door and had paused in the threshold long enough for her to take notice. Her ocean blue eyes flickered up towards his and for a moment he was trapped in the glittering blue depths of her gaze that drowned him in an ocean of sadness.

In that moment, Brock wanted to sink to his knees and _beg_. The urge to tell her _everything_. How beautiful she is and how sorry he was for letting his anger get the better of him; for evoking a favor to gain her hand, instead of taking the time for courting her properly as she deserved. How his instincts had been screaming at him to take her and make her his since the moment he first laid eyes on her in Stark's Tower. Feral instincts that connected to the very marrow of his essence that she was _his_ and that they belonged. Two separate entities not realizing they are each other's missing pieces.

The moment though, was ruined, by the front door opening.

“Brock? Is that you?”

His mother asked equally delighted at his present and shocked by his bloody and grimy appearance and the distraught woman captured in his arms.

Darcy looked up startled.

There was a woman of timeless grace in the open portal. For a moment she just stared at the bedraggled pair on her thresh, her mouth slightly parted, pouting plump lips painted in her favorite shade of maroon. Her long blond hair, which was slightly graying was braided elaborately and she was thankfully wearing modern clothing. Eyes the green blend of sage and earth, travel over their forms, twinkling with delight that quickly turned into a worried frown when she took in Darcy's tears.

By her tone, Brock knew his mother asked equally pleased at his presence and shocked by his bloody and grimy appearance and the crying woman in his arms. The situation was complicated enough and went from bad to much, much worse; he didn't want to go down the path of explaining that his mother was an ancient witch. Not yet at least.

“Well don't just stand there, carry that poor woman inside you oaf!” the sharply snapping command was directed toward Brock and she quickly stepped back while opening the door wider. Elegantly gesturing the pair inside, her movements retaining a certain graceful flutter, almost as if all of her movements were meant to be a dance.

Grateful to be granted entrance, unwilling to admit the ramping exhaustion, Brock tipped his head in a soft nod and stepped inside. He took note that Darcy once more tensed in his hold, seemingly holding her breath for a brief moment.

A snuffling grunting snort broke the uncertain silence between the newly formed trio, and all eyes turned towards the source.

“Not now Odysseus, go outside! There's enough food in your pen” his mother's voice drew his gaze to a huge tusked boar that was pushing its giant snout against her, pleading for food. The spiraling stub of its tail whirling like a whirligig.

“You still have that beast?” Brock groaned, sending a distrustful look of scorn and loathing when the massive creature trotted past him in a lazy waddle, grunted and oinked softly.

“Are we really going to discus my choice of pet when you bring a crying woman to my doorstep, looking like you just walked out of a battlefield?” his mother arched a single, well manicured eyebrow at him. Green eyes blazing, daring him to challenge her in her own home.

Brock grunted in reply.

Darcy did not find it ironic he sounded so much like the beast he scoffed at.

“Are you hurt my dear?”

Upon addressing the young woman in her son's arms, the Matriarch of the house changed her voice and expression, from the matronly scolding to a worried mother in seconds. Uncaring of space restrictions, she stepped into her son's personal bubble to lay a comforting hand against one of the trembling dear's own.

She was not expecting the strength of the magic contained within the petite form in front of her, though perhaps she should have, the way her wards had sung out in warning. There was something familiar about the girl - woman - the shape of her mouth, the defiant sadness and oh, that taste of her magic.

“I'm not physically harmed” Darcy answered her and the unspoken truth about her words stuck at Brock's core harder than he anticipated. His mother, ever observant, moved her blue green gaze to him in a very disapproving glare.

“Come, Brock, follow me with that poor dear to my rooms and then go wash yourself,” she commanded, turned swiftly and hurried up the staircase to their right.

Darcy peaked a glanced toward the woman who had opened the door. Despite her rather youthful features, she could see that those green eyes held far too much wisdom for the age she appeared to have. The slightly graying hair didn't match the young and beautiful face and even if she hadn't noticed that or the distinct prickling of magic against her senses, she could recognize an old soul when she saw one, this woman was far older than she looked.

She held her breath when Brock took his sweet time carrying her upstairs; the house was lovely, what she could focus on in an attempt to keep herself centered. A mixture between ancient Greek halls and archways and modern furniture. It smelled of flowers, herbs, spices and potions, and they passed a room which held a scrying pool.

A soft gasp escaped her lips when her brain finally engaged from the anger of Brock's demand, the betrayal of not only her mother but also one of her dearest friends, her own self-loathing and finally connected the dots.

Ææa, the island Ææa **.**

Brock had brought her to the home of Circe.

To _Circe_!

“Brock,” she whispered softly, tensing in his arms. _He brought her to Circe! Thanatos, help her!_

“Hush, my mother is not going to harm you,” he assured her as if sensing her thoughts, his hands gently squeezing her to ease her discomfort.

 _His mother!?_ Circe _was his_ mother?!

Before her thoughts could do more than stutter, as they were still kind of busy being angry at Brock, they had arrived in a spacious bedroom that Darcy knew she had no business being near. A few long strides within the room and Brock sat her down on her feet gently. Darcy couldn't help but notice the muscles of his arms tensing and moving under her legs before pressing comforting against her back.

Then things went weird. The first thing registered in her brain was that his large frame which stood so close to her, steadying her with a soft grip on her biceps, was encased in a sudden swirl of blue magic.

"Frigga!" She jerked backward in shock. Eyes widening further than possible, she could only stare as the lean strength of him began to twist and contort, faded and shrunk until all that was left was a tiny little teacup pig.

A adorable cute tiny little teacup pig.

Which squealed an angry protest.

Her hand flew over her mouth to hold in her startled snort laughter but still the uncontrollable giggling escaped. She stared and sank slowly to her knees, the laughter robbing her of what little strength she had left at the indignant squeal that assaulted her ears from the tiny creature in front of her.

"Oh, oh, no," she gasped, her eyes crinkled from amusement, she turned to see Circe leaning in what she now could see was the bathroom door with a smug grin on her maroon lips, a grin that was oh so similar to the one Brock often sported.

“Rather fitting don't you think?” the sorceress hummed satisfied, her green eyes filled with kindness and sympathy. “Come,” she crooned at her, holding out a hand and gesturing towards the bathroom behind her. “Tell me what utterly stupid mess my son has gotten himself into this time, while we get you nice and clean.”

Despite all the stories about how dangerous this sorceress was in particular; despite the strange magic prickling against her senses, Darcy couldn't find it within herself to refuse the offer of getting clean. A warm shower sounded fantastic right now.

With one last glance back at Brock, who was the tiniest and cutest pig she had ever seen - how was he even doing some piggy version of puppy dog eyes?! - she heaved herself off the ground and walked towards Circe. There was the barest hesitation before taking the proffered hand and allowed herself to be pulled into the bathroom, the door falling shut behind them.

~~~

Steam curled about the air currents lazily, languid splashes having ceased moments ago. The silence between the women had stretched after Darcy had revealed in halting bursts what had caused her tears.

The young woman, her daughter-in-law, sat in the bathtub, which she had drawn for her in silence.

“Does he know?” Darcy asked her, changing the topic, blue eyes shining with an unnatural light.

“No,” Circe answered her, knowing exactly what she meant. She might be old but there was no doubt about who this young woman was. “No, he doesn't.”

“Will you tell him?” the young goddess inquired, was that pity in her eyes?

No, not pity. Sympathy yes; pity no. A defiant anger and demand on her new husband's behalf, thought not a conscious decision, Circe snorted inwardly at her thoughts. Such a mix this new daughter was; when one knew her identity, there was no denying her lineage. That confidence and sympathy was all Hades; that ruthless defiance, on the other hand, that was all her mother.

“When the time comes … I've lived many centuries. It is about time.” Circe finally answered and shrugged elegantly. She meant it; the power and energy to keep sustaining her human body got more tiresome by the day and the sweet sirens of death were becoming all that much harder to ignore with each passing sunset.

“Apollo owes me a favor,” the young goddess told her and Circe's heart skipped a beat.

_Perhaps this new member of her family and the ensuing drama would keep the ennui at bay long enough to see something new and entertaining. How long had she worried for her steady and serious son to find someone worthy? Someone who would take care of him, heart and soul, and ease the burden of loneliness she ached to see in her child._

“And what would you like in return for that favor?” Circe slowly asked her almost breathless; a god never offered something for free unless they gained something from it.

“Get your son to set me free and I'll make sure that Apollo heals you; your body will be young once more, with many more centuries to live.” Darcy offered a hand reaching out to move over the dimming golden strand of life that connected to Circe's soul.

A strand that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, the blue eyes of her new daughter-in-law shining with an unnatural cyan blue hue.

That shouldn't be possible, Circe shuddered. Thanatos was Death; Hades was the Lord, the guardian of the kingdom of the dead, but he was not Death to hold Life so close to the shearing of Fate.

“Brock's a little rough around the edges,” Circe's words are followed by a disgruntled huff of the young goddess. Her voice held a warning on her son's behalf. “But he would treat you fairly, more so than any of your cousins.”

The pointed threat within her words had the young goddess twirling around to meet her gaze head on.

“I know who you are,” Circe told her, green gaze unwavering and unafraid. Her own hand rose to caress the youthful curve of cheekbone. “And why Apollo owes you a favor,” she continued. “As long as you are married to my son … Zeus cannot try to force you to marry anyone else. Maybe you should think about that, princess.”

The young goddess gaze softened in contemplation before she reached out once more and Circe felt fear, utter and terrifying fear when the goddess took a hold of her life thread; not of death, no, but of much worse things the young goddess could do with a flick of her dainty wrist; but much to her complete shock her new daughter pulled a single golden strand from _somewhere_ and wove it around the fading thread.

Instantly, Circe felt years upon years of life returning to her while the goddess turned and busied herself with which soap to use as if it was the most meaningful of questions.

~~~

Later, Circe watched the young woman walking through her garden, such a lovely young lady she thought to herself, not only in body, but also in mind and soul. She had no doubt that the banished goddess could have killed Brock easily for his transgression against her, but she had for whatever reason, stayed her hand so far.

Circe's gaze fell down to her feet were her son sat pouting as a pig, a most suitable punishment in her opinion. He really was quite cute; even better, he couldn't talk or smolder back to get his way.

"Pity," she smirked and with a wave of her hand he returned to his humanoid form.

"Mother!" he snarled, towering over her like an enraged wolf. The burgeoning red of his power and the lengthening of his canines told her of his disquiet.

In his temper he was more Ares than he realized, Circe noted with bemused pride.

“Tell me son,” she growled at him and the tone of her voice must have warned him of her fury. She was still his mother and he would respect her or face consequences far more dire than a little piggy embarrassment. “What were you thinking … trapping a goddess in a marriage”

"Goddess? What? No, Darcy is a demi," His confusion must have been clear on his face because his mother sighed and gestured towards Darcy elegantly.

“That there, my son, is the rightful Lady and Heir to the Underworld, True Born Daughter of Hades and Persephone, granddaughter to Zeus and Demeter. Banished goddess of Rebirth and the Balance between Life and Death.”

His eyes snapped to Darcy who is by now sitting in the shade of one of the many trees, giggling softly while his mother's war boar, a creature meant to tear and trample, to kill and destroy, was sniffing her outstretched hand like a curious puppy. Darcy's pale skin was shimmering lightly even through the heavy glamour she wore. A glamour he realized, she wouldn't need if she were a mere demigoddess.

“A goddess?” he choked out, completely baffled.

His mother's smile was feral, greatly enjoying his discomfort.

“Oh, the trouble you get into my son. I knew why I only wanted daughters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK you [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay) for being such a huge help.  
> She does not only correct my grammar, she also comes up with lots of scenes and descriptions I would have never thought of alone


	13. Broken hearts

“ _When Brock was eleven years old his father came for him. He took my little boy and molded him into a ruthless warrior. He would bring him back once a year, bloody and beaten and utterly filled with rage, and just when I thought I could reach him again … Ares came to take him to a new battle.”_

Circe's words haunted her even in her dreams.

Sleep hadn't come easily to her, in the witch's house, when she laid alone in an unfamiliar chamber. Not even the homely feeling of the tasteful furniture, nor the comfortable bed with its sinfully soft sheets that bore a familiar scent brought her any consolation.

The sorceress hadn't said it, but she knew without a doubt that _this_ was Brock's bed she was laying in and he had disappeared at the first signs of evening and not returned.

That thought had her somehow breathing easier in relief and yet, deep down she had yearned for more.

A bride should not lay alone on her wedding night.

Her conflicting reactions were exhausting; she wanted to be home.

Had it really been less than a day since she woke beside her slumbering parents? Since she enjoyed a family brunch that had become rare since her banishment to the mortal world?

Now, restless hours later, and her instincts prickled … _something_ had awoken her.

Allowing her senses to wash out of her like a wave, her eyes instantly fluttered open. Before her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could feel his presence, his heat, she could smell his unique scent … and the distinct stench of alcohol.

Her nose wrinkled automatically in distaste at the excess.

He was kneeling beside the bed she lay in, staring at her with an almost unseeing gaze. Gone was the destroyed armor, gone were the blood and dirt, instead he wore a simple dark shirt and loose pants.

His gaze remained on her, burning that disquieting red of his power that was so much like his father's.

For a moment she held her breath, surely he wouldn't?

Her heart began to pulse harder in anticipation, of what sort she wasn’t sure.

Before the events of the previous afternoon, she would have said without a doubt it would never happen.

Now, though?

But the moment passed quickly and she realized he hadn't even noticed her wake, he was looking at her but his gaze was far away. She lay very still, observing him carefully.

Should she?

“Brock?” she whispered into the stillness.

The soft breath of his name, barely more than a slight brush of air passing her lips, was enough to snap him out of whatever thoughts he was trapped in, he jerked violently. His burning red gaze seemed to further glow in the darkness of the room and focused on her in a split second before the red seeped away into a soft brown.

“Darcy,” the hesitation of the not quite statement or question of his baritone voice, slurred from alcohol and yet somehow filled with so many emotions, it made her breath catch in her throat.

She shouldn’t want him. He hurt her. He could still hurt her. He took away her choice; she had no choice.

“Please leave,” she requested softly, before she could lose her nerve. Shifting in the bed, she moved into a sitting position while drawing the thin sheets further up her body. The move allowed herself to be at least somewhat eye-level with him, even kneeling and accounting for the height of the bed.

He truly was a large man, his lean physique often detracting from the sheer power contained within. It was almost funny, the way his natural glamour made him smaller and less threatening to the mortal eye.

Her nerves fluttered like an injured bird, her wounded heart wept at his mere presence.

Pain flashed across his features when her words sunk in but she felt no remorse for her request.

His features for once were not obscured by his usual mask of arrogance and clearly showed his anguish and despite knowing better she relished in it, her own pain had numbed her usual sympathy and tact.

Words were all she had left and she would use them.

He looked like he was about to say something, the words on the tip of his tongue, which darted out to wet his lips, mouth slightly parted and then his shoulders slump in defeat. He sighed and stood, stumbling forward drunkenly and she couldn’t contain the flinch backward when he reached for her.

Somehow he looked even more tortured.

What did he expect? That she would jump into his arms in joy?!

His large frame froze, brown eyes flashed with renewed pain and met her blue ones, taking in the way she had perched herself on the other side of the bed out of reflex, ready to flee at any given moment.

Slowly, ever so slowly he put his hand down on the mattress, unfurled his fist, and dropped something small on the sheets.

It was the work of a few moments before she gathered enough nerve to take her eyes off the demigod before her, to glance at his offering.

A ring.

Sweet Gaia, he had dropped a ring onto the sheets!

And just like that, he turned and swayed his way toward the open portal, grasping the frame for balance before leaving. Her heart was still beating furiously when the door fell shut behind him and the treacherous thing continued to do so a long time afterwards. Part of her wanted to hurl the ring after him; another didn't want to touch it for the life of her.

_A ring._

It was such a human gesture and gods didn't use such trinkets but still … the implications, the symbolism couldn’t be ignored.

The ring continued to lay there beside her; taunting her until she passed out into an exhausted sleep once more.

~~~

She was still slumbering deeply when he went to wake her the next morning. Darcy laid curled around a pillow; arms slung about and clutching it against her ample chest in a tight grip.

Her small womanly form taunted him through the thin sheets and the sheer fabric of the nightgown she wore.

Curves so utterly feminine begging to be touched, to be appreciated, and to be _worshiped_ like the goddess she was.

Brock could only stare, gaping like a fool.

How often at Stark Tower had this been his fantasy? How he had plotted, had snarled at others with jealousy at the smallest affections on her part.

Such a sweet, sweet torment.

His _wife_ was in _his_ bed.

How he had longed for this day; until a few months ago he wouldn’t have known that it was for this woman in particular that his soul had held out for.

Covetous eyes took in every rise and fall of her breathing, fingers clenching into fists to keep from doing something stupid like reaching out to touch.

She was his, yes, but in his arrogance, he had lost whatever regard and allowance that would have made it okay for him to slip in beside her, to pull those curves once more against the solid strength of him, to press her spine against his front and nibble along the smooth column of her throat until she awoke in pleasure.

Had he not jumped the gun, he wouldn’t have been exiled on his own wedding night and would have been in his rightful spot next to her, not slinking into his own bedroom like a thief.

She shifted in her sleep and the long, dark fall of gorgeous hair parted and fell over her shoulders, baring part of her delicate back to his appreciating gaze. Her skin looked soft and creamy, the glow that seemed to lighten it up, now more pronounced since he knew the divinity of it. But what drew his gaze were two vertical lines of gold, running down her back, on either side of her spine.

He almost reached out to touch them, curiosity making his fingers itch forward but then a movement of _something_ drew his gaze to the empty space behind her person, there was nothing there … nothing but the imprint of nonexistent wings on the sheets.

Invisible.

Untouchable.

 _Ripped asunder_ from her body by Zeus’s decree.

After she had fallen asleep the previous evening, he had had it out with his mother. The entire story of meeting her at the Tower some months back, to his admittedly fumbling pursuit, the erroneous assumption of whose daughter she was.

“The _Love_ Goddess?! Really?!”

His head still smarted from the smack imparted courtesy of his parent. In a hushed, halting tone, his mother had told him of what had happened to his goddess. Her voice ached with sadness, carried the horror of what occurred. That cruelty had led him to seek refuge in a bottle; many of them.

How Darcy had refused Apollo's courtship because the offer had lacked love between them. How Zeus had raged – not because his son had been hurt for Apollo truly had not loved her – but because Darcy had dared to find a son of Zeus to be lacking.

Zeus had been offended at this perceived slight, so enraged, that he thought to frighten her into agreeing, laying hands filled with power on her.

His Darcy had fought back.

Circe told of the battle that followed.

Darcy had manifested other powers so absolutely no one was expecting her to use the King of the God’s own lighting, his unique weapon against him.

In trying to subdue her, Zeus forgot that through her mother she was directly blood descended from him.

No other child of Zeus’ get even showed the proclivity for the Lightning, either before or since.

Not that Zeus would allow them the opportunity to do so.

The fact that the entirety of Olympus had observed this defiance made it even worse.

Zeus banished her for attacking him. That she was actually defending herself was of no import as he could not lose face any further in the eyes of his Court.

Most of her powers were stripped from her very marrow, and her newly underpowered self was sent into the mortal world where she grew up once more, from a small babe into the young woman who now lay in his bed, sleeping.

If Brock could kill his liege Lord he would strike Zeus down where he stood. But that was a problem for another day; this one still needed to be started, and he found himself missing Darcy’s presence.

“Darcy,” he called out softly and he saw her stir ever so slightly. “Darcy, wake up sweetheart.”

He tried once more to coax her from Morpheus’s grip before he saw her beginning to stir. For several long, glorious moments she was utterly relaxed, languid against the soft sheets embracing her form and again Brock forced himself to stillness.

He knew the exact moment when the previous day caught up with her. Her whole body tensed before going slack again in forced repose.

“Please, go away Brock,” she groused, burying her head into the pillow she had dragged with her as she turned to face him, the pillow gripped in front of her like a shield.

He supposed it was rather cute, fighting a smile that threatened, but he was distracted by the way her body had shifted on _his_ bed, how she stretched her limbs in a lazy but unthinkingly sensual manner and arched her back with a small sound of pleasure, before curling up once more behind her pillow shield.

That pillow had to go.

“There is breakfast downstairs,” he informed her, “Waffles with berries … I wrestled those off Odysseus myself,” Brock smirked when she snorted into the pillow in amusement. His mother’s pet knew how to make an impression.

“I'm not sure I want them then,” she mumbled, the pillow still clutched in front of her, covering half of her face. Darcy peeked at him, half buried in the pillow, blue eyes swirling with emotions. “Please tell me you have coffee on this island?”

The softly spoken words, with the barest hint of jest in them, yet sounding so earnest, so hopeful, made him chuckle and his heart soar in joy.

“Of course!” he assured her, recalling her almost manic addiction to the caffeinated bean. “I'm not completely barbaric,” there is his smirk again.

“Could have fooled me,” the light jab made him perk up with the slightest bit of hope. Snarky, he could work with her sass and snark, not the crying shade of a woman she had been the previous day.

“Yeah?” he questioned and his tone of voice made her gaze snap to his. “I could do more fooling around and throw you over my shoulder, dragging you all the way down to breakfast,” her eyes widen at his words and her brief moment of surprise is quickly replaced by anger.

“Get out!” she shrieked at him, hurling the pillow at his face.

Laughing he caught it, ducking his face behind it before peeking past it; she sat fuming on the bed and jerked her head to the side stubbornly. “Leave … please Brock; I can't deal with this right now.”

He sighed in defeat, lowering the pillow back onto the bed.

“I brought you some more clothes,” he nodded his head towards a stack of different clothes which he had placed on a chair, each piece neatly folded to precision. It was such an utter _him_ thing, every single piece of clothing and equipment had to have and be put back in its place. Likely from his years growing up, being trained in the art of war. If gear was not properly stowed, then when the need arose, precious seconds were lost when they mattered the most.

“What were you thinking?” she asked him quietly, still sitting on the bed, hands now clutching the sheets to her frame and once again refusing to meet his gaze.

His attention is drawn to the ring which tumbled across the sheets before coming to a halt a few inches in front of the edge. It had obviously lain there the entire night; she hadn't touched it, not even to move it.

That thought shouldn’t have been what felt like a sword in the heart, but it was.

“I wasn't,” Brock freely admitted. “Thinking, I wasn't thinking at all.” he said while bending down to take the golden band.

His hands were shaking as he gripped the small golden band, not that Darcy would notice in her bid to not look at him any more than she had to. Taking only a moment to debate, he sighed heavily before he sat himself on the edge of the bed. His shoulders slumped as he noted she edged away from him despite at least half the bed between them.

“My anger got the better of me. Your father … he sure is something; his presence alone egged me on. His obvious hate fueled my rage and blinded me. All I really thought was that I had to get you away from danger at _every_ cost” Brock admitted. The hand not holding the ring ran through his hair, gripping the hair in frustration, before dragging his fingers down to scratch at the morning’s stubble as he gathered his thoughts.

“Darcy … I know it isn't an excuse but I had been awake ever since you've been abducted, or what I _thought_ was your abduction after an attack on the Tower. I've endured endless bureaucracy to get a damned traveling pass so I could find Hades and tell him what had happened and then … then I got abducted by some _vines_ and thrown into that swamp, where _you_ were chained like some _princess_ in a fairy tale. I killed that Hydra and when I thought I could finally rest, that you were _safe_ for at least a few moments, and we were joking around about old customs, and the possibility of marriage, your father appeared. All towering and threatening and disapproving,” he trailed off, thumb and forefingers playing with the petite ring, before sliding it on his pinky.

While he spoke he scooted closer to kneel on the bed in front of her and gently tugged one of her hands from their grip on the sheets. His far larger hands ghosted over hers in a feather light caress, tugging her palm open and he pressed the ring into it, before gently closing her hand around it once more.

“I couldn't bear to lose you,” he told her, his deep voice rumbling. “I never want to lose you and if you would have me … you would make me the happiest man in the world, in all of the worlds.”

She was still stubbornly looking away from him and for a moment she closed her eyes before she turned her face towards his, only when her head slowly lifted to look at him, her sapphire blue pools of eyes open and stared at him with sadness clear in them.

“I don't need this ring, nor do I want it. I am already yours and if you would want it you could lay me down and take me and I wouldn't be able to refuse you _._ _You_ declared that I was _yours_ , invoking the Favor of the gods, with me as the Favor to be given. _**If**_ you would have wanted me to be yours willingly, you should have thought about that before making me your prize, _your war trophy_.”

And there went his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not give a description of the ring because I want all of you to imagine your own ring. The perfect ring for you. Since this is something entirely different for everyone I decided not to describe it at all.
> 
> Her wings were supposed to be a metaphor of her powers being taken but somehow the idea just stuck with me. So it is all my beta's fault for coming up with the metaphor 😁  
> THANK you [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)


	14. Ares

With a heavy heart after leaving his wife alone, Brock walked down the stairs toward the kitchen.

Surprised, he met his mother in the hallway; a worried frown creased her brow as her gaze shot toward the main entrance with trepidation.

The hair on the back of his neck began to raise and he hissed at having been distracted by mulling over his ripped out heart because that is what it had felt like when his wife’s earlier repudiation slid into his very being to his very core. Like a dagger that twisted cruelly and he couldn't even fault her for it, he had married her against her will after all.

“What is it?” he questioned, fingers flexing to grasp the hilt of his sword.

Now, he too was able to pick up on an approaching powerful presence, now that he was concentrating on it and not his own heartache.

A heavy booming knock against the door at the same moment accompanied his mother's breath hitching, her whole body going stiff for a long moment before she breathed out. She placed a placating hand on his, hindering him from completing the draw of his sword. Shaking her head however softly and he reluctantly removed his hand from the hilt. With a sigh, she squared her shoulders and he noticed the slight trembling of her hand before she pulled open the door.

Few things in this life could make Brock Rumlow feel the alarming thread of fear down his spine.

Yet the sight that now greeted him as the godly presence made itself instantly known, sent a shiver down his back. It washed over him like a raging cloud of fury, anger, bloodlust and hate, the feral baring of sharp teeth on the face of the towering war god, who stood bent, to even fit in the doorway.

His father let his gaze travel over his mother and made no effort to hide the intensity in his burning red gaze. Wicked and leering, Brock once more had the urge to draw his sword at the blatant lascivious smirk as his progenitor practically undressed his mother in a careless disrespect of her person.

“Ares,” his mother sniped after the ensuing silence had lingered for way too long. Her eyes had never strayed from that of her son’s sire; there was a bloody, storied history in the baleful stare the pair shared.

“Circe,” he nodded his head at her before those burning eyes shifted over to acknowledge him. “Son.”

“Leave your weapons outside and don't you dare to start a fight in _my_ house!” his mother all but hissed at the god before her, taking no heed of the fact that he could crush her with a single hand if he so desired.

Ares’ smirk widened, eyes burning brighter at her tone and the challenge she presented.

“Of course,” he drawled and began to remove weapons from his person.

Swords and daggers, hidden blades and even his helmet were placed on the small white stone bench beside the front door.

His mother tapped her foot; arms crossed in front of her and glowered at the war god like he was an unruly child. With a roll of his flaming eyes his father produced even more weapons from concealed parts in his armor and added them to the remarkable large selection on the garden bench.

Only then, did his mother grant his father entrance by stepping back and gesturing inside.

Still, Brock's blood ran cold.

Ares laying down his weapons at the front door was but a show of good will and ego.

If the war god decided to attack either his mother or himself, there was little they could do and he knew, with cold gripping fear that his father wasn't here for either of them.

With a little huff, Circe spun around and marched to the kitchen.

Warily, Brock followed with a deeply amused Ares bringing up the rear.

Pots and pans clattered as Circe bustled about; the two men took their seats opposite one another.

They sat at the table in silence.

Brock was unwilling to ask why Ares deigned to grace them with his presence after so long an absence.

The bloodthirsty war god was equally unwilling to reveal why, just being a little shit.

It was a comical sight to see the seven and a half feet tall god struggling to sit one of the chairs, towering like a mountain over the breakfast table and frowning at the lack of meat.

The oinking of Odysseus once again drew everyone's attention.

“Odysseus!” Ares grinned at the boar, a genuine smile of delight gracing his lips. “Can't believe you're still around!” he patted the large boar enthusiastically and it flopped down onto the floor, allowing the god to rub its stomach.

“You kept him, huh?” Ares smirked smugly at Circe, brows wiggling suggestively.

She huffed and pushed her nose in the air, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “What can I say, out of the two of you _he_ is the gentleman.” she snarked but Ares ignored her in favor of head butting the boar which made Brock grimace.

“Where's his armor? He's all fat!” Ares complained, turning burning red eyes onto his mother while Odysseus grunted and wiggled his swirled tail. The mammoth hand absently patted the thick hide wiggling in pleasure at his side.

“He's enjoying retirement. May I remind you that he's somewhere around three hundred years?” Circe advised him with a raised brow.

Ares rubbed his chin in thought. “You'll need a new one then.” he mused before his gaze swept over her once more. “You know … you haven't aged a day.”

His mother doesn't answer the unwelcome and unspoken curiosity instead, she turned her attention to preparing her coffee and stirred it.

Ares growled at her and grabbed her wrist. Her cup of coffee went flying, shattering on the floor, sharp pieces of porcelain and splashes of coffee scattering wide.

“Don't you dare to ignore me, woman,” he snarled at her, towering above her impossibly large.

Brock was on his feet in a matter of seconds, sword drawn and pointed at his father's throat.

His father, who chuckled at him, not even sparing him a glance while Circe whimpered in pain. Brock knew that there was no way he could stop him if he decided to break her bones, all it took was a flick of Ares’ wrist and his mother's arm would break like a twig. But there was no way he could just sit by as the woman who gave him life was manhandled in such an appalling manner.

The sword he had at his father's throat wasn't a challenge to the war god, because despite Brock's size he had nothing on his father. Ares could force the sword from his throat with little effort if he just slammed his elbow out. He would still get hit, but the wound wouldn't be serious and heal in a matter of seconds.

“Good morning,” Darcy’s soft voice cut through the building tension like a hot knife through butter.

All three of them look up at her completely startled.

Brock took quite the satisfaction in the fact that obviously his father too had been startled by her sudden appearance.

Darcy, who was wearing one of his mother's Greek styled dresses. A simple piece, held together over each shoulder by golden brooches and with a golden belt wrapped around her tiny waist. The semi sheer material hinting at the womanly curves beneath, all the more breathtaking for what it _didn’t_ reveal than what it did.

For all of its simplicity, it looked all the more breathtaking, now she really looked like an ancient Greek princess and he felt his heart stutter at the sight.

Her hair was haphazardly braided away from her face in a fishtail style, one of Brock’s leather cords entwined throughout and tying off at the ends, and flipped about one shoulder like a python.

Her blue gaze was settled onto his father's burning red one and all of sudden an elbow was slammed into his stomach, hard and unforgiving. The impact had him flying backward with a grunt of pain, though he managed to retain a firm grip on his sword. The wall he was against was both unyielding and strangely supportive.

“Never,” the voice of his father snarled mockingly. “Let yourself be distracted.”

Snapping his eyes open despite the pain he was relieved to see that Ares had let go of his mother's wrist to face this new challenge.

Circe clutched her arm to her chest, wrist not broken but surely bruised. The ugly blue and green already forming on her skin proclaimed it was going to be deep and sore for weeks to come.

His father's attention was now on Darcy, who slowly walked towards the table, her gaze briefly met Brock’s before she stole Brock’s former spot to seat herself opposite of Ares. The godly bastard grinned as he retook his seat, regarding the young goddess with faux sincerity.

What was she doing?!

While Brock scrambled to his feet, Darcy picked up a cup and the carafe on the table and poured herself a coffee. She blew softly into the cup before drinking from the dark brew with a hum of delight. After the first sip, she gently reached out and added sugar and milk to suit her tastes. It was a little quirk, to only doctor her drink after that first, precious gulp of dark brew, a quirk that Brock had found to be absolutely endearing and nuts, but wouldn’t have any other way.

“I'm surprised to see you up and about. I was sure Brock would fuck you until your hips snap.”

The crass observation was so typical Ares, it made Brock want to gag. If Hydra ever wanted to know his inspiration for assholery, they only needed to crack open a history book to Ares’ face.

“Father!” Brock snarled at the crude remark, neither seeing the roll of Darcy’s eyes.

“What can I say? I can take a pounding,” Darcy purred at his father with a wicked smile on her face that had his father snorting in amusement, the grin that spread across his face would under any other circumstances promise bloodshed.

_Dear Gaia! Was she flirting with his father!? Worse … was she bonding with his crassness?_

Darcy speared a waffle with a fork and spreads some whipped cream and a few berries onto it. For the entire duration of it, his father was staring at her in an unnerving way which she completely ignored. Delicate bites and soft hums were the only sound as she attempted to enjoy her breakfast.

“Father, enough!” Brock demanded, coming to flank Darcy’s side and slamming his fists down on the table to glaring at him. “Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to see my new daughter in law.” Ares shrugged, turning his attention to him, red eyes gleaming viciously. “Besides I wanted to apologize, since we are kin now,” he leaned back in the seat which creaked, threatening to break under his heavy frame. He snagged a blueberry and popped it into his mouth, briefly pursing his lips at the tart flavor.

Darcy practically froze, the cup of coffee hovering in front of her lips, her blue eyes wide, she apparently knew exactly what Ares was referring to and by the look on her face it couldn't be anything good.

“It really was no pleasure to cut your wings off,” Ares shrugged, cruel smile still in place. “I'd rather they didn't hold you down, but you know how it is, we don't always get what we want.”

_No._

_No, please. Don't let that be true._

Brock felt like his father's words had ripped part of his soul out; he couldn't even begin to imagine what it would do to Darcy, but before he could even form a plan, form words, find a way to get his father to leave, Darcy spoke.

“It's alright,” she said nonchalant, despite the pain in her eyes. “You had your orders.” she continued and stood, slowly stalking around the table. “Like a good little soldier.”

Ares’ twinge at the soldier comment gave Brock a vicious pleasure and he didn’t hide his own smirk as his wife continued. He kept a careful eye as she circled closer to his father’s radius but there was something in the way she walked or rather stalked closer to the mountain that was his father, something that kept him from pulling her back.

“But since you're at it, you can also apologize to Circe and swear to her to never touch her against her will again or lay a hand on her.” Darcy informed the elder god with a calm tone and a serene smile borrowed from the Black Widow while she waved a silver butter knife around, like it was some kind of weapon.

Knowing what he did about his wife now, Brock wasn’t too certain that it _couldn’t_ become one if necessary.

His father laughed outright at her chutzpah and she walked ever closer to him. With a sugary sweet smile she reached out and grasped something unseen. Whatever it was, it made his father freeze right then and there, his laughter died abruptly, eyes going wide he stared at her with a burning red gaze.

“You wouldn't dare,” he snarled at her almost breathlessly, rising to his feet, despite the obvious pain he was in, there was even the slightest tremble in his limps, something Brock had never witnessed before and he had seen his father being impaled by swords and spears before.

Brock and Circe could only stare, though Circe looked as if she may know a little of what her new daughter was doing if the thin lipped approving nod was any indication.

“Oh, I don't need to,” Darcy chirruped in the same carelessly sweet tone, her eyes shining with an eery blue glow. “All I have to do is ask Charon and Thanatos to just come and pick up every soul you slay a little earlier, maybe half a minute? So _every_ _time_ the Great Ares goes into battle, all of his enemies will indeed fall before him. But never again _by his own might_ ,” she mused innocently. That Widow’s smile edged into a sharper sneer, the very chill of it very Soldat, and reminding him just whose daughter she was.

“Such a pity that would be … can you imagine? Sword swing, men and women screaming in pain and agony, the coppery tang of blood. Your enemy before you and just as you are about to win, to sink your weapon into your enemy in a victorious deathblow … yet they would perish right before that, stealing of you your victory in E _very._ S _ingle._ B _attle._ ”

There is a dreadful stillness in the entire house after her words, not even Odysseus dared to grunt or oink.

Brock was holding his breath.

He couldn’t decide if he was fearful or fearfully aroused.

The scene before him was equal parts terrifying and comically satisfying. Darcy barely reached the middle of his father's stomach and yet her words had sunken into the war gods flesh like the sharpest of Olympian weapons.

She was utterly magnificent in her fury, pure genius in her mean.

And yes, that definitely turned him on.

A wide and feral grin spread across his father's face and then, to his complete shock his father nodded his head. “I swear it.”

“Swear, what, Ares, born of Hera, son of Zeus? Use your words,” Persephone’s’ daughter taunted, and if the blue of her eyes chilled to deathly cobalt for a moment … well, Brock was just thankful it was not directed at _him_.

“Circe,” his mother’s name was gritted out, spittle flying as incisors sharpened to an almost vampiric length. “I am sorry.”

“For?” Darcy prompted, drawing the word out mockingly.

“I am sorry for injuring you in your home. I _swear,_ ” the hate filled glare would have combusted a lesser person. “I swear, by the gods old and new, that I will never again _touch_ you against your will. Nor will I lay a hand to your person.”

A golden swirl of magic seemed to appear out of nowhere and settled around Ares' wrists like cuffs, seeping into his skin and traveling up his arms, as if the gold was running through his very veins, it spread across his entire body before fading, binding him to his oath.

Whatever she was holding onto, Darcy appeared to let it go.

If anyone saw the brief exhale of relief on Ares’ part, no one commented it.

“I've lost my appetite,” Darcy informed them all, voice full of disgust, her gaze flickered over his mother and then meet his for a fraction of a second. “I'll be in the gardens.”

With a pivot of her heel and her head held high, Darcy walked straight backed out of the kitchen, through the doors and into the garden leaving them to look after her in a mixture of emotions each.

Brock didn’t have the heart to call it fleeing; more like a strategic retreat and if his eyes had dropped to the swaying of hips, well, who could blame him? He was only human … mostly.

“Coffee?” Circe cocked an inquiring brow to the room at large, a wide smile beaming across her face.

“Mother,” Brock sighed, rolled his eyes and then grabbed his wife‘s abandoned cup to follow in her footsteps.

He wasn’t fleeing either; strategic retreats seemed to be the day’s in thing and now, that he could leave his mother without the fear of what Ares might do, he was eager to find her and ask her 'what by Tartarus' she was thinking, challenging the war god.

And he wasn’t jealous that his wife seemed to have become his mother’s new favorite.

Really.

He wasn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half of your love should go to my glorious Beta [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> She made Ares so much more assholy (ehehehe) and made Darcy taunt him so much more


	15. A date

Circe watched her son trail after his wife like a lovesick puppy and waited until she was sure he was out of hearing range before turning and setting unamused eyes upon the war god, who once again sat at her table, hand patting the thick hide of the battle boar he had gifted her so long ago. “Ares, why are you really here?”

She was too old for this particular god’s bullshit. Too many lifetimes ago, she once knew this creature of blood and sorrow; knew him enough still to know when there was a serious reason for his visit. One that wasn’t part of his usual taunting.

At her words Ares looked up to meet her ocean green gaze with his own fiery stare. Each of his movements caused the chair he sat on to creak loudly and Circe could see his annoyance at this tiny little detail, her petite daughter in law sure had ruffled his feathers.

He moved deliberately slowly, muscles playing under sun kissed skin, and laid one of his large paws on the back rest of another chair. Circe glowered at him, she knew, that despite his huge and brawny appearance, he could be fast as a viper if needed and equally flexible. He wasn't a god of strength after all, no, he was a god of war, bloodshed and violence and he knew in utterly perfection how to do just that.

For all he complained about the change in warfare, how humans now pointed with their magic fire sticks (Guns, he knew that very well, he just refused to call them by their name), instead of fighting man against man, he relished in all the new hand to hand combats they had come up with. His complaints about boxing matches on television knew no limits.

His dark hair was cut short and his clean shaved face had so many similarities with that of his son, but it was so much crueler, meaner and downright cold blooded. He quirked a challenging eyebrow “There's war brewing.”

“Isn't there always?” Circe questioned him with a small frown, while still nursing her wounded arm. Her fingers paused as she noticed Ares’ eyes tracking her fingers movements; she had to remind herself that she was safe. Her new daughter had ensured that.

Still, nervous old habits had her brush strands of her once again dark gold blond hair behind her ear.

Ares’ grin widened at her words and he hummed deeply in satisfied agreement, the lust for bloodshed so clear in his whole demeanor. The tip of his tongue briefly flicked out to wet his lips – Brock did that so much – before his eyes harden with the severity of the news he was to impart.

“Yes … but this war? This war is brewing between gods and demigods alike, and our new daughter just proved that whatever side she joins is worth … _consideration_.”

Circe almost dropped another cup.

Ares was an abusive asshole; there was absolutely no question of that. But despite that particular quirk of his nature, Ares never lied about his favorite topic – War. If Ares said there was a war coming, between the gods and their get, then she knew it to be truth.

Hadn't she wished just the previous day, that maybe the new addition to her family would chase away the boredom of a long lifespan?

Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it.

~~~

Brock trailed outside after his trembling wife. His keen eyes didn’t take long to notice her beginning to shake as soon as she had left the house and stepped into his mother's beautiful garden. Whether it be from anger, fury, or adrenaline, he didn’t know, but an entire lifetime spent around Ares gave him the feeling it was probably all three.

“Darcy, please wait!” he pleaded, allowing some of his worry to bleed through. Especially as she had continued past the main gardens and was now close to one of the orchards.

Surprisingly, she did as he asked almost right away, her stride slowly shortening before coming to a halt at the edge of a small grove of apple trees. Swiftly he hurried towards where she awaited him, coming to a halt beside her. The soft summer breeze kicking up her dress in a playful dance around her feet while teasingly moving some strands of her hair, which had escaped the braid.

Gaia, she was beautiful.

“Darcy,” he began, looking down at her, his free hand moved to touch automatically and then paused, suddenly unsure if he should touch her at all, before carefully and deliberately slowly moving to stroke her cheek in tender affection. “Come and sit down with me,” he offered her the cup of coffee and she looked at it for a moment before she reached out to take it hesitantly.

Her entire palm was a complete mess of horrible burned flesh, blisters and _golden_ blood.

“Darcy!” Brock sucked in a surprised gust of air. “Sweetheart!” he gently took a hold of her wrist and guided her towards one of the many benches scattered around his mother's gardens and orchards.

Sitting her and the cup of coffee down on the bench, he kneeled in front of her, prying her hand open as gently as possible to inspect in the damage. He literally saw red as his power began to build between his eyes, but he tamped down and leashed the feral beast within to focus.

“What happened?” he queried softly, gently. Careful in trying not to scare her away again, when she was finally allowed him this smallest of touches.

How did this happen? He hadn't seen his father touch her at all? Or was this a consequence of whatever she had done to Ares?

It was difficult for him to gauge how serious an injury was to anyone but himself, his own healing was so much faster than that of most others. A fact he found himself cursing; he didn’t like to see her in pain, and the less time she had to be in agony the better. Brock didn't dare to use his bloods magic on her, not yet, not when she didn't trust him.

He tried to ignore the chill that came over him at the sight of the burns; while he healed fast, he still felt pain, and having a whole building drop on you and burns over ninety percent of his body took even his abilities a while to deal with.

“It's not a good idea to grab a god's life thread when you're not a god yourself,” she finally answered him, just as quiet as he had asked. Eyes downcast and with her head turned to the side while she stubbornly glared into the garden, everything just so she wouldn't have to look at him.

With sudden clarity he realized why.

_I look like him._

Well, not exactly, but there were undeniable similarities, like his good hair, and the burning eyes and he also definitely had his father's skin tone and body shape, damn it!

Brock gave a gusty sigh at her admission, once again struggling to regain a semblance of self control as his thoughts raced. How did he respond? If he went off on her about how utterly stupid, how life threatening it was to go up against his father… if he admitted how completely and utterly terrifying and arousing it was to watch her bring Ares to his knees…he wasn’t prepared for this shit.

“I'm going to get a first aid kit or a potion or something,” he stated abruptly, “Please … be here when I come back” he requested softly, rising to his feet. The urge to run, either toward or away from a fight, left him feeling antsy. The knowledge that her injuries were beyond his capabilities made him restless and wanted to bare fangs and rend something until all these emotions passed.

Her eyes are half closed and she nodded slightly, humming in affirmation to his request.

Despite his reluctance to leave her, he had no choice, his eyes grimly taking in the burns once more.

She had picked up her cup of coffee with her uninjured hand and took some sips from it, her gaze far away, turned inward no doubt. With a final glance around to see if there was anything that could threaten her, he turned to walk back to the house with swift and long strides.

His sire had better be gone, that’s all he had to say.

~~~

Darcy would never admit to ogling her husband’s ass.

She watched him leave with a renewed conflict of emotions, why couldn't she just hate him? He had done more than enough to deserve it. And yet…and yet her heart kept telling her just how right he was for her that old, treacherous thing.

Speaking of hearts… hers was still beating wildly with adrenaline and feeling like it might burst out of her chest at any moment.

Challenging Ares while she was robbed of most of her powers was terrifying. If he had suspected just what she was about to do then he could have very easily stopped her.

But in his arrogance he had underestimated her, something he wouldn't do again. Ares was all brawn and raw power, but he knew violence. He lived and breathed wrath and fury; was intimately acquainted with the desire to see an enemy bleed be it physical or not. She would need to tread careful around him from now on.

Darcy was no fighter. She had no bodily strength or fighting skills. Nor did she want to, she was no battle goddess.

Her powers were mostly of the passive kind, which she could use creatively if needed. Her only real offensive power had been her lightning.

Understandably, Zeus had taken that from her first thing.

Her wings had followed next, removing from her the means to travel between the worlds of gods and mortal.

Then, they had stripped of her the powers they had known and understood her to possess, overlooking those they did not understand or maybe they just thought them useless.

Ares…What an asshole. Ugh, an asshole to whom she was now related to by marriage.

If he expected her to call him “Dad” or “Uncle”, she was going to sic Cerberus and his sons on his butt. See how his godly derriere took to being chewed by that!

The situation she had walked into had now made so many things clear.

Why her father had been so strictly against a union between her and one of Ares' sons. Now, she realized that this was what her father had feared, that Brock was just like Ares, and to be honest, it was a miracle he wasn't.

Even as mad as she was at him, she knew with solid clarity that Brock would never treat her as Ares treated, well everyone else.

She had seen what Ares had done to Circe.

There was no way … no way had Circe … but hadn't she too, almost given into Brock? Only for him to stab her in the back, to bind her to him like a slave!?

 _But he didn't force you_ , her heart whispered at her. She scowled, digging a foot into the soft earth beneath her soles, toes following a few blades.

No, no he hadn't forced her.

Despite being within his rights, as both the Favored and as her husband, he could have easily demanded her to submit her body to his. Yet, instead, he had offered her a ring.

Even when completely inebriated, he hadn't once laid hand on her or tried to force her into anything.

It pained Darcy to imagine just why he took that part so seriously.

She had seen the way he had tried to defend his mother against the Elder god. He must have known that he couldn't win and yet, he had not backed down. Instead, he had still drawn a sword upon his sire, just like he had drawn one against her own father when he thought that Hades might have caused her harm.

No, that wasn’t her heart skipping a beat and no! Her ovaries and lady parts were _definitely_ not melting into a heated puddle of goo. She didn’t care how tight his shirt or pants were, she was mad at him, remember?

He used a Favor to acquire her like a piece of furniture.

So enshrouded in her own thoughts she was that only the sound of approaching footsteps made her look up. Bah, her situational awareness sucked. Nat and Bucky would yell at her with their silent, Russian disapproval; Clint would razz her endlessly, and Steve would give his Captain America Is Disappointed In You ™ lip pursed sigh.

Her brooding must have taken longer than she thought; Circe and Brock were approaching her and her bench. Brock was walking swift but calmly, carrying a box whilst juggling some colorful potions on top of it. Circe hurried towards her, her own bruised hand already bandaged from her palms to almost her elbow. Darcy found herself glaring at the sight, anger renewed.

Circe was at her side by then and immediately sat down beside her, fussing over her hand like a worried mother, which technically she was.

“Oh Darcy,” Circe bit her lip and gnawed in worry. “What have you done?”

The softly exasperated tone chipped at her heart, when was the last time someone had fussed over her, Darcy? For anything, really?

“I used too much power; I would have been alright if I weren't still exhausted from using them yesterday.” Darcy admitted, the _on you_ , stayed unspoken. “Nothing a few days of good night rest can't restore, though I don't fancy an infection.”

“I imagine not,” her mother in law agreed absently, snorting. “Place that over here!”

She directed her hovering son to place her jars of potions and salves, rifling through both glass and the box with one hand while the other rubbed softly over the wrist of Darcy’s injured limb. Again, Darcy found herself fighting back sudden tears at the unthinking motherly act. When was the last time her own mother had tended to her comfort like this? Like she mattered as a person, not just the punch line? It was the work of a few minutes as the Sorceress dabbed at the golden blood to clean the site enough to her satisfaction before turning back to her tinctures.

“This is going to burn,” Circe informed her after messing about with some concoction, and Darcy had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming at the first touch.

'Burn' my ass! That felt like she had grasped Ares’ life thread once more.

While Circe was bandaging her hand she stole a glance at Brock, who was leaning against a nearby tree. His eyes had stayed intently about her person, something she had tried to ignore but how could she when she could literally _feel_ his gaze upon her. Interestingly enough, the former STRIKE commanders eyes kept flickering between his natural burnt sienna and the red of his power. Now it seemed to have blended somewhat together.

He wore black tactical pants that did absolutely nothing to hide any of the strong musculature beneath, only seeming to enhance. The twin swords he favored were strapped at his sides, per always; she had never seen him without them before, they had been present even in their first meeting.

Wait a moment, she had, yesterday evening she recalled. He hadn't worn them during that nightly visit but they had been there this morning when he offered her both his apology and a ring.

She shook her head at the thought.

The shirt he wore was black too and stretched across his chest and really made his biceps look yummy. Embarrassment was the only emotion she acknowledged as she felt a blush creep onto her cheeks. Was she really so shallow?

Flustered her eyes met his bronze gaze, those incredible windows to his soul. How they lightened up when he was angry or felt threatened; sometimes they did it if he wanted something. Was he even aware of that?

Her blush deepened when she thought back to how his eyes had burned when he kissed her on the altar. The crooked smile, that not quite smirk, tilted at the corner of his lips as if he knew where her brain just went and he _approved_. The heat that appeared in his eyes then had nothing to do with power and everything to do with another kind of lust.

“There, all done,” Circe announced and her gaze snapped to the sorceress who looked at her with a bemused smile on her lips. She squeezed her uninjured hand lightly in motherly affection before giving it a soft pat as she rose. “I'll leave you two to it. But maybe you should sit down inside. Breakfast still needs someone to eat it, someone other than Odysseus.”

Darcy’s face flamed, and she did everything but look at her amused mother in law or her irascible husband, who now had the gall to start chuckling as his mother gather up her supplies.

“Come, Odysseus, we have places to be!”

In a regal dance of limbs, Circe snatched up Darcy’s empty cup with her potions, and wandered off with one last speaking glance to her son. The grunting snort and whirling tail followed as the giant boar heaved himself up after his mistress.

The following silence stretched for a little while before Brock sighed, the previous intensity broken.

“Thank you,” his voice startled her and she blinked up at him before looking down at her hands once more.

He looked nervous, hesitant and unsure; she had never seen him look like that before. Not even when she rejected his first advances.

“I didn't do it for you,” she told him, frowning, and then feeling bad when she caught the slightest downfall in his expression before clearing.

Why did this have to be so hard? Why couldn't her emotions finally decide onto something? Anything? Why did he have to be so confusing? Why did he force her to become his wife and then continue to court her as if she still had a choice?

“I couldn't just stand there and watch when … I too was in a similar situation.”

Brock too seemed to be at lose of words, opening his mouth as if to speak before he closed it again. Finally, with a small shake of his head, he cleared his throat and nodded towards the house.

“Would you go on a brunch date with me? I'll make you a nice and fresh pot of the meanest and caffeinatest brew that this household has to offer.” he winked in a return of his normal flirt. “We can't have you going into withdrawal now can we?”

Did he …did he just ask her on a date?

A shy smile found its way onto her lips and she stood slowly. “I would like that.”

“Yeah?” The smile that lit his entire face and eyes hit somewhere in those feelings Darcy tried to pretend didn’t exist.

By Frigga and Odin’s Beard! That man’s smile should be registered lethal.

“Yeah,” she swallowed. “I would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like always a huge thanks to my Beta [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> 'Captain America Is Disappointed In You ™ lip pursed sigh' was her idea and I think it is hilarious.
> 
> Brock is trying!


	16. Revelations

Having her right hand hurt like a bitch and bandaged made eating breakfast a rather awkward experience, but thankfully Brock didn't comment on it. Instead he conveniently placed everything she could possibly need near her before proceeding to grind coffee beans with a manual coffee grinder.

Seriously, a _manual_ coffee grinder. The only appeal Darcy could see about having such a contraption was that it allowed her to eyeball the impressive flexing of her husband’s biceps as he worked the machine, and nope! Not going there, no sir.

True to his words he did make her a very mean pot of coffee. The coffee game of this household was indeed strong and she was incredibly grateful. She would have been disappointed and even a bit sad if it wasn't, considering how much effort he put into making her the steaming hot brew.

It was sweet really, the simple joy Brock seemed to get by trying to make her happy. How he responded to each of her smiles with one of his own and how he leaned into her touch when their fingers brushed as he passed her the coffee, it made her feel _desired_ and had her heart flutter.

Despite the fact that she was already his, and he didn't need to, he was obviously courting her.

No words were uttered while they ate, but the silence surprisingly wasn't uncomfortable; to be honest she really appreciated it as it gave her some time to think. The last one and a half days had been one disaster after another and she dearly needed time to relax.

To be honest she wasn't really hungry but the waffles _were_ delicious so she slowly nibbled at another one until it was fully gone. Only then did she devote her complete and utter attention to the heavenly dark brew.

Oh my Thor! Ambrosia couldn’t even match this and she pointedly ignored the knowing smirk of her new half in favor of the strongly scented drink in front of her.

“Brock,” she began softly after a while, her cup of coffee clutched in her left hand, her bandaged right lying on it softly. He turned his focus to her immediately from where he had his own coffee after having removed the now unused dishes moments earlier.

“I ...” she trailed off again as she gnawed on her lip for a brief moment; exasperated with her own self, she gave her head a shake while wondering how was she supposed to do this? Frigga, why was this so messed up? That was all she could think of, this past day had simply been messed up, incredible, universal fucked up and she didn't know where to even begin to talk, to clear this whole mess up.

“Take your time sweetheart,” he gently told her and leaned back in his seat, taking a sip of his own mug.

“There are a few things I would like to know.” she finally told him in a calm tone. She seemed to have made up her mind.

“Of course, just ask. I'll do my best to answer them, scouts honor!” Brock answered her with a slight tease in his voice.

“Brock,” she began, her mind made up, Darcy still fumbled for the right words before looking up and settling her beautiful blue orbs onto him, a small flush adorned her cheeks. “Throwing a tantrum and ignoring you will only complicate everything so I've decided that we should talk about this like grownups,” her gaze has once again drifted from his and she was fumbling with her hands nervously, taking another sip of her coffee.

“Despite the fact that you don't need to … you were very considerate regarding my feelings and I'm grateful for it. I've known you for a while now and I don't think you will ever… hit me if I don't comply with your wishes but I would appreciate it if you told me what exactly you expect of me as your wife, so I can meet your needs and if you allow it I would like to make some requests of my own … so this might work.” her eyes darted to his in sudden renewed nervousness, gauging his reaction.

Brock's thoughts came to a stuttering halt at her words. _Meet his needs? If he allowed it?_ What did she think he would do with her?! This didn't really make any sense at all, unless … the favor! Did she think … did she really think he would treat her lesser?

“Darcy, I think I don't follow? I don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with and I'm honestly at a loss of what you are talking about … so how about you tell me those requests of yours and we figure the rest out?” he stated reasonably.

His reply seemed to have been the right one for she relaxed considerably.

“I just,” she trailed off once more, pausing for a moment to gather her thoughts. “This place is very beautiful and I'm grateful but I would like to know if I'm allowed to leave? If not, then can I receive visitors?”

Oh damn it all to Tartarus!

“Darcy,” he tried to use his calmest possible voice. “I would never keep you prisoner and of course you can have visitors, sweetheart! What would make you think that?!” Brock was honestly baffled.

Dear Gaia, she was serious, wasn't she?

Darcy’s head tilted a bit at his response, blinking a moment before she answered slowly as she sounded out her thoughts aloud.

“Well…you brought me here instead of the Tower and there is no phone or internet in this place. It’s amazing and beautiful, please don’t you and your Mom get mad! … You've also given me clothes to last me days and have made no mention or indication that we will ever leave this place, so I just assumed … I'm sorry, I know you're not a … _monster_. The last day has been crazy and I'm practically your possession so I ...” her words broke into a silent sob that made his heart clench painfully.

“You are not my possession!”

He's on his feet and at her side before he can really think about it, arms wrapping around her of their own accord. She's sobbing into his shoulder for the longest time and the only thing he can do is whisper sweet words into her neck. Assuring her that they would figure things out while moving one arm across the small of her back in soothing circles.

“Sweetheart,” he mumbled softly. “I'd rather have Romanov castrate me with a spoon than to hurt you intentionally.” his words had her half sob and half snorting into his shoulder, her mood lightening considerably. “I'm sorry I'm such an idiot, and I'll do my best to make it right,” he promised.

“You cannot imagine how much I regret ever uttering the words that force you to be mine. Don't misunderstand me; I want you with _every_ fiber of my being. I have ever since I first laid eyes upon you. You're the most beautiful and spirited woman I've ever met; you constantly keep me on my toes, make me work for every one of your smiles,” her sobs had stopped by now and he knew she was listening, contemplating his words. He only hoped she would _hear_ them, not just listen and then dismiss.

“I'll never force you to do anything you do not wish to … unless it is a danger to your safety, and then I will not accept a no for an answer. Your safety, your continued existence is my main priority. But everything else, _everything_ , is up to you. I want to earn your hand in marriage as I should have – and wanted to – but even more I want to earn your love and the trust I feel I lost. Allow me to court you properly. Give this fool of a Took a chance,” he requested and she giggled at the reference, moving back from him a little to meet his gaze.

There was a light flush to her cheeks and her eyes, still a little puffy from crying, were once again glittering like sapphires. This was the closest she’d willingly allowed him and his heart tripped a beat.

“I guess that depends on your thoughts on _elevenses_ ”

The beaming smile that lit up his entire face made her all fuzzy inside and she shifted slightly, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “Don't make me regret trusting you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my Beta [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> She's a goddess of words (no doubt!)


	17. Reconnecting

His thoughts on _elevenses_ consisted of a protein shake for himself. Darcy snorted in amusement at that, but had been pleasantly surprised by what he had magicked up for her benefit.

They picnicked outside, or rather she picnicked, while he slurped his shake. She found herself enjoying a homemade roll with what had to be home churned butter and fresh tomatoes straight off the vine growing by the kitchen.

It was very lovely, the sky that perfect shade of crisp blue and the salted breeze from the ocean toying the few wisps of clouds about. So lovely if one could ignore the huge boar that rooted and rolled about the soft bed of grass beside her, begging for food the entire time.

Darcy’s giggles kept interrupting her meal, as she was very clearly reminded of little piggy Brock pulling the same pleading look. She privately wondered if Brock knew he borrowed some of Odysseus’ pleading tones.

For the most part, Odysseus was rather well behaved for such a large creature. She was well aware that if he wanted to, the large boar could have simply sat on her and stole her food to munch at his leisure.

_Big softy._

She knew a few of those. Besides, she was fairly certain that Brock would defend her honor should the whirly tailed wonder attempt something more physical.

Brock was trying though, she had to give him credit. After they had hashed it out earlier, at least a little, she was willing to give him a chance, her heart continuously urging her to give him a chance.

Circe had been right.

Brock treated her far better than any of her godly cousins or other relatives would have.

Maybe this wouldn't be so terrible after all.

~~~

It was not long after the eating and Brock couldn’t help the chuckles that rumbled in his chest as he propped himself up enjoying his view of his wife. Darcy, who was currently playing tag with his mother's boar after having decided earlier to taunt the swine with the last bit of homemade roll. Maybe it reflected badly of his character, but Brock didn’t have the heart to warn her, and the ensuing pursuit had him roaring with laughter, the kind that had been in such short supply prior to meeting Darcy. Loud grunts and shrieking laughter could be heard from in between flowerbeds and trees, occasionally she ran past him with the boar hot on her heels.

Was it horrible that he had moved away from ground zero – aka the picnic blanket – to get a better view?

“I'm proud of you,” the soft spoken words drew his attention from the unlikely duo.

Brock arched an eyebrow in question at his mother, who was softly beaming at him as she sidled over.

“You're trying to fix it and you're making progress, aren't you?” Circe prodded as she, too, observed the curious game of tag between one of Ares' former battle boars and the young goddess. “She could tame a dragon hmm?”

His mother was clearly amused.

“Odysseus is hardly a dragon, but you're right, she probably could.” Brock agreed. “Is the traveling potion ready?” he asked her, hoping that it wasn't. He enjoyed seeing Darcy this way, not hiding behind fake glasses and big sweaters; being able to use what was left of her powers freely, without having to hide from the regular mortals.

“What am I? A witch?” his mother teasingly asked, a smile on her face. “No it isn't, it will take a few more days. But feel free to take a boat and row to the mainland. I'm sure your friend Stark will send a jet.” she pursed her lips at him and gently nudged him into Darcy's direction.

Or at least she tried to. Just to be contrary, or perhaps riding a crest of the playful atmosphere, Brock just swayed in place, refusing to be ushered about like when he was a child. His eyes, though, didn’t leave the graceful curves of his bride.

His Darcy who had just collapsed into a heap of giggles while Odysseus sprawled out beside her, rolling through the dirt and grass with loud grunts and flailing limbs.

Brock wouldn't be impressed by how long they had chased each other around in their playful game. Darcy obviously wasn't to be underestimated.

“Or stay here and enjoy some more time with your wife … that is _if_ you manage to win her back from Odysseus,” Circe smirked at him with a knowing look in her eyes. Her golden blond hair looked beautiful in the sunlight; she appeared so much happier and younger than the last time he had visited.

“You're the best!” he told her and affectionately kissed her cheek. She patted his own, a light smack really, and once again shoved him towards his laughing wife, this time he allowed it.

“Go and kiss your woman,” she commanded him with a laugh while she turned towards the house. “And make sure she doesn't stay in the sun too long, she is rather pale and her hand is still badly burned, she should be resting.”

Brock stalked through the gardens and towards his wife, who by now lay sprawled out on their picnic blanket, chest heaving and dazed blue eyes focused on the passing clouds while Odysseus snored softly dozing in the grass after being scolded off the blanket.

Slinking on his knees to cross the blanket to sit beside her, leaning back he propped himself onto his elbows, tilting his head to consider the tinier form beside him. He savored the tiny amount of heat thrown by her body, instinctively curving his body toward hers.

“The potion will be ready in a few days, she was a bit vague about it and I didn't feel like asking. She might decide to keep you after what you did with my father.”

Darcy turned her attention to him and giggled softly.

“That would be much funnier if I wouldn't have to worry about it being true.” she wrinkled her nose in playful displeasure before rolling onto her side and glancing up at him. “And a phone?”

“Mother has no need for such things, she didn't charge it. I set the solar panel up but it will take a while.” he sighed, eyes roving over the familiar surrounding garden. If he didn’t, he would have done something younger him would have done and kissed the ever living crap out of the beautiful temptress beside him.

It was a rather peaceful moment and one he was loathed to give up.

The soft breeze that carried the sound of waves and seagulls to their ears. The many different fragrances of flowers and trees perfuming the air; the buzzing of busy bees and the colorful butterflies. They could truly be living a page straight out of a fairy tale. Odysseus’s snorting rumbles of truly horrible snoring were really the only things disrupting the peace.

“Cell reception?” Darcy frowned at him, thoughtful.

“It's a satellite phone. You would have a hard time finding a common carrier that serves magical islands.”

There is a teasing grin on his lips and he looked over at her with hooded eyes. There is a slight red hue to his chestnut brown eyes, a hue she found very distracting because it brightened significantly when she bit her lips and his gaze fell onto them. Her heart skipped a beat and her fingers clenched against the soft weave of the blanket, momentarily wishing it were something else she was gripping.

“Really? And I thought it was in the telephone book, somewhere between B like Bards and D like ... Dragon Rental Service?” she smirked at him and twirled her braided hair with her uninjured hand.

She hoped he didn’t hear how breathless she had sounded at the beginning. Brock leaned back farther, practically arching into somnolence and chuckled.

“Damn, I know what I'll order for the next party … and that D could have really gone other places sweetheart.” His smirk is downright dirty as was the waggling of his brows.

“Why do I know you're talking about the dragon and not the bard?” Darcy giggled, not following his bait which caused Brock's smirk to drop a little. “But I'm sure Thor and Hulk would appreciate a dragon at the next office party.”

“Nah, we need to organize one of those Hydra's for Cap.” Brock grinned and finally laid down completely beside her, staring at the sky while he stretched his arms back to pillow his head on his arms. “That would drive him nuts.”

He chuckled at his own suggestion and Darcy rolled onto her stomach, an amused smile on her lips. She was pointedly trying to ignore how close she was to her husband’s body, but every inch of her nearest to him seemed to pulse in awareness.

“You're so mean,” she chided him softly but it was obvious from her expression and tone, that she didn't mean it. “But I guess you can call the Underworld Service Hotline? See if there is an available Hydra running around?”

“There's an Underworld Service Hotline? Damn, if I had known earlier … I could have called and asked about your whereabouts instead of stumbling through that maze and bureau- _crazy_ ,” Brock complained only semi serious, shifting so that he too lay on his side with a hand now propping his head.

Her cerulean eyes fluttered to meet his own burning gaze.

Their faces were now so close, it wouldn’t take very much for either of them to close what little distance there was. Darcy’s eyes flicked towards Brock’s mouth, unconsciously mimicking his actions as his tongue made a brief appearance to wet his lips.

Odysseus chose that exact moment to snore loudly and roll over in his sleep, pushing her in Brock’s direction. She squeaked in surprise, her arms coming up to steady herself against his chest while she tumbled against him. Pain mars her features for a brief moment, when her injured palm pressed against his chest, before being quickly replaced by surprise when his arms moved around her and he rolled both of them over, taking the brunt of Odysseus careless movement.

His breath was knocked out of him for a moment when roughly 250 lbs of boar connect with his back and wriggled to get comfortable.

“Brock!” she gasped alarmed and a bit in shock at the last few seconds’ drama. Brock was practically in a modified plank position over her, the huge behemoth somehow still asleep and snoring louder than ever.

“Don't worry. I managed a Hydra, this is but a _scratch_ ,” he huffed out and she looked at him wide eyed before giggling in his arms. He groaned as the movement brought her chest in contact against his own, and desperately hoped she mistook it for having to bear the literal weight of the family pet.

“You idiot! How can you joke? You can barely breathe!” she chided him and wriggled beneath him to back up from underneath him so he could sit up. Brock had to grit his teeth and thank Gaia that they hadn’t been connected any lower when his face was practically face to face with her ample chest for the briefest of moments and her body moved and brushed against his in all the right ways.

“Sweetheart, I can take a hit or two. Remember that Hydra? That damned thing had nine heads, compared to that, Odysseus is a Chihuahua.” he told her smugly, rolling his eyes and pushing up from the ground to sit. He boxed Odysseus lightly and the boar grunted and awakened, shaking his head in displeasure. “Go to your pen!”

Bellowing out a diatribe of snorts and grunts, Odysseus obediently rose and trotted towards his pen with few sassy oinks.

“I am so sorry about the Hydra,” Darcy fumbled with the end of her braid and looked after Odysseus while gnawing on her lush bottom lip once more.

If she knew what that did to him Brock would have a heart attack. As it was he was two seconds and one more bite from jealously claiming that lush lip for his own. It felt so right, to have her here, at home, so close that all he needed to do was reach out.

“You got nothing to be sorry for. I'm pretty sure you weren't on that altar out of your own free will.” Brock reassured her.

“Oh!” her neck snapped around to stare at him wide-eyed. “Oh!” she grew paler.

“Darcy? Sweetheart?” Brock grabbed her hand, alarmed.

“You don't know … of course you don't! ... My mother, she spiked my drink and put me there.” she gritted out angrily at the memory.

“W … What?” he managed to stutter out. _Her mother had done what?_ Her tiny hand clenched beneath his own, and absently he brought his other hand to cradle it between both.

“You heard me; my mother found it oh so hilarious that you even came after me. A demigod warrior in the Underworld! And not just any demi-god, but one of your fathers' line! Now we can't just have this demigod walk up to the castle and see for himself that everything is fine, oh no! Why, we need to throw obstacles in his way and when he finally is almost there … well we can't have that now can we? How about we drug our own daughter and chain her up as Hydra bait, doesn't that sound like a fantastic plan?” she snarled at the end, shaking from anger.

She yanked her hand out from his and rose to her feet, stomping a small march the length and perimeter of the blanket. Her teeth were bared in a facsimile of a smile, but what really clenched his agony were the furious tears of betrayal gathered in her eyes.

If he could strike the Queen of the Dead down Brock would introduce Demeter’s daughter to the fury of his twin blades.

“I guess we both have one asshole parent huh?” he questioned while rising to his feet. He couldn’t stand to see her in such pain, and he didn’t even think as his hands smoothed over her hips, and gently tugged so he was hugging her from behind. It took the work a few moments for the sharp, stiff way she held herself to ease, and before he knew it she was leaning back into him.

“I guess,” she hiccuped in response, and smiled tremulously as he bend down and parked his chin over one of her shoulders.

“Shh,” he soothed, chin being replaced by lips that pressed the softest of kisses first to her clavicle, then the joint where her neck and shoulder met. She closed her eyes and tilted her head against his as he nuzzled her neck and jaw with his nose, just brushing her cheek with his lips before giving a firmer kiss to her temple.

It was nice, Darcy thought, being surrounded by a living wall of muscle. In that moment, she felt so cherished, and she never wanted that feeling to fade even as her heart stung at her mother’s callousness.

“So, which one do you think is scarier?” Brock’s voice rumbled in her ear, and vibrated through the shoulder pressed against his chest.

“Huh?”

Those red tinged eyes caught and held her own, a faint flicker of amusement beginning to sparkle in them before ending in a quirk of those soft lips.

“The non-asshole parent. Which is scarier? My mom or your dad?”

Darcy stared a moment and then threw her head back in laughter.

Oh my, Gaia, he’s perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We switched to cowriting! Double your love! 😜 [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> 


	18. Messages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** for slight mention of smut

_“Obviously my dad!”_

_“Obviously you have never been turned into a tiny pig before!”_

_“Like you didn’t deserve it! And you were a teacup pig, not a tiny pig. Yes, there is a difference, Brock!”_

Her cheerful laughter still rung in his ears hours later as Brock took in his wife's slumbering form on one of the chaise lounges in the living room.

 _Dozing,_ she had insisted _, she wasn't sleeping! Oh no!_ His mouth quirked into an amused smile at the thought, because only moments after protesting that she wasn't in fact falling asleep Morpheus pulled her along into a deep slumber.

Grabbing a nearby throw blanket, he draped the soft material over delectable curves knowing from previous experience in the Tower that she complained about cold feet. A moment’s pause and then he decided to risk it; tenderly he smoothed back a wayward strand of hair off her face.

If the back of his fingers brushed against supple skin well, it happens, yes?

With a reluctant sigh he backed away, running both hands up his face to scratch in his hair, dragging down to rub at the stubble he really should look into trimming a bit. It didn’t escape his notice the small, hungry glances his wife had cast at the shadow adorning his jaw when she thought he wasn’t looking. This sudden shyness was as endearing as her previous bold leers at Stark’s Tower, and he wasn’t ashamed to say he preened under her regard.

Brock made his way to the sideboard attached between two hutches in the room, keeping Darcy in his peripherals as he poured a glass of liquor from one of the crystal decanters filled with various colored fluids. An expert toss back and he refilled the glass with a healthy portion, taking a moment to lean against the aged wood as he once again considered his wife’s slumber, eyes unseeing as he recalled the day’s events.

After having admitted to him on how exactly she had ended up on that altar they had talked and he had found himself cursing the situation they had both been tricked into. It was also no wonder Hades had been so infuriated when he found them together in the swamp. What his own Queen did to their daughter he obviously cared a great deal for and considering what Ares had previously done to her; it made all the more sense that the King of the Underworld would disapprove of himself in general, much less after overhearing their joking conversation about being married by ancient rite.

In hindsight, it was a miracle that Darcy had agreed to a date with himself in the first place; surely her father had informed her of the deeds he had committed while he spied for them under the alias of Crossbones. But then again, he had pursued her rather aggressively, hadn't he?

While there was no excuse for his rash behavior in acquiring her hand through the Favor, she understood the stress her mother had put him through and that facing her furious father wasn't exactly a soothing experience. He considered himself the luckiest bastard alive when she told him that while she was still angry with the how, she could forgive him _if_ he courted her properly.

And court her properly he wanted with every fiber of his being. He would be the first to admit that it wasn’t with pure intentions that he had pursued her at first. The possibility of being with another demigod was as appealing as his erroneous assumption that she was a daughter of Aphrodite. It shamed him now that just based on outer physicality; he had made such an assumption. But as the weeks dragged on, and Darcy refused to be charmed into his bed, he had put more effort in getting to know her.

At first, as any good hunter would, observing what he had thought to be prey. And then, when she refused to be more than just a notch in his belt, it was because he found he couldn’t help himself. He was hooked, utterly and completely on her sunshine smiles and the way she cared for others.

A healthy dose of competitiveness, between her refusing his advances, and the other males he could see pulled in her orbit. He was honest enough with himself that he knew had she fallen in bed with him at the onset, he likely would have been bored and finished with her in short order. And what an idiot he would have been to let that happen.

Or perhaps, and knowing what he did about her now, it was more likely that he would have bedded her and still fell in love.

He would have been a thousand times more possessive than what he was even today.

If there was one thing he shared with his sire, it was the fact that once he was given a legitimate claim, he would hold on and fight anyone to the death over what was his. There was no doubt in Brock’s mind that once joined physically, there was no going back.

A sudden assault of divine power prickled his senses, his head snapped up and he bared his teeth at the interruption.

The glass in his hand landed on the sideboard with a heavy thunk. This time he did not fail to notice the presence of an intruder, the godly aura had not approached but rather appeared and even he, unskilled in magic as he was, could hear his mother’s wards sing out in warning.

Unwilling to leave his wife unprotected, he swiftly crossed the distance to her side and bend down on one knee to gently shake her awake.

“Darcy,” he urged her gently, “Sweetheart wake up, we have another divine guest.”

Her blue eyes snapped open with a start, widening, while she sat up and allowed him to pull her to her feet and against his chest. The blanket pooled at their feet and absently he kicked it away with one foot, enjoying the way her body pressed against his.

His instincts were purring at being allowed so close.

“Who?” she questioned softly, looking at him inquiringly before her gaze traveled to her still bandaged hand. “I'm not sure I can fend off another one.”

“Let's hope that isn't necessary,” Brock frowned. He didn't like the fact, that she felt the need to protect him. If anything, he should be the one defending her against any and all threats. On the other hand, the thought of her bringing another god to his knees … _Gaia_! There was nothing sexier than a woman who knew how to take care of herself and others; it’s why the majority of his past lovers were fighters or other warrior types.

He wanted to spread her out on his bed and kneel himself in front of it pulling those shapely legs of hers over his shoulder while he buried himself in between her thighs; or to use his mouth and tongue in other, more carnal ways to worship her until she came apart under his attention.

He shook his head to clear it of those thoughts; he needed to concentrate. Besides, he still had to gain back her trust before any of his fantasies could ever happen.

Sweet Gaia, his wife had him wrapped around her little finger and didn't even know it.

Together they walked towards the front door, his hand gently clasped around her left hand, her uninjured one, squeezing it slightly. His mother was already in the hallway in her dressing gown and robe, looking more frazzled and irritated that he could remember ever seeing her. She met his gaze briefly beforecautiously opening the door.

Once again he found himself surprised, because the sight that greeted him wasn't what he had expected at all.

The goddess that stood in the doorway was tiny, five foot two at the most, with fiery red hair that would put Romanov to shame and huge purple eyes, which flickered to blue and then to green in a matter of seconds. She had an elegant face and a thin, lithe form that reminded him of a tiny elf. What drew his attention though, was a pair of huge golden wings that ruffled and folded behind her person before disappearing in a golden shimmer.

He had no clue who this goddess was supposed to be, he had never seen her in all of his dealings with the three king gods.

His mother seemed equally baffled, lingering in the doorway and awaiting any kind of greeting or reaction from the divine being.

“Can I help you?” Circe questioned, the barest thread of her power creeping in warning. Mortal she may be, but even Gods and Goddesses threaded carefully about her. Some claim she is a bastard child of Hecate, a mortal made nymph. Her command of the magicks even the gods were respectful of.

“Iris!” Darcy's joyful greeting had him relax marginally. “What brings you here?”

Iris? The goddess of rainbows?

The face wasn’t familiar but the name was. Brock was pleased that though Darcy at first made to move toward someone she deemed friendly, he could tell at the last moment when she aborted the movement, some self preservation kicking in as her grip in his hand tightened but she didn’t otherwise make to leave his side. Circe arched a questioning brow and the goddess had the decorum to give a slight head bob in acknowledgment the Enchantress’s way

“Darcy,” a genuine smile lit up that elfin face before darkening. “I fear I'm not here for a social call. You've been Called before the Council. My Queen Hera has convinced Zeus to send me instead of Hermes, to collect you. She thought you might appreciate a friendly face.”

Occasionally his grandmother showed some compassion. It was extremely rare, but it did make an appearance. Brock was even more suspicious as the Queen Mother was at her most dangerous when seeming to assist someone. Especially if that someone was another female.

Darcy's own smile fell from her lips. “What? Do you know why?”

To be Called before the Council was no laughing matter. Brock squeezed her hand in comfort once more as Iris's gaze fell onto their connected hands briefly and she gave him an impressive glare before turning her attention back to Darcy.

“I'm forbidden from informing you of the reason for your summon … but not from telling you some gossip,” there is a wicked smile on her face. “So, I don't know if you heard but apparently someone managed to enter Zeus' personal vaults yesterday evening during the yearly summer festival. All gods were accounted for so ...”

The goddess trailed off with a shrug, the meaning of her words clear. The gods and goddesses were accounted for except for Darcy.

“I hope you have a very good alibi because to call the king pissed off would be an understatement. He appears very eager to lay the blame at your feet.” Her eyes had switched to an orange and were slowly fading into yellow, she grimaced sympathetically. “I am sorry Darcy; I wish I could bring better news.”

Brock fumed in anger, not at the messenger goddess, no, she wasn't to blame for the news she brought. He was angry with Zeus, the king of gods apparently hated Darcy with an unparalleled stupor.

Before he could say anything his mother spoke up. “Why don't you come inside for a moment? Do you want tea while you wait for Darcy and Brock to get ready?”

His mother fully stepped out of the way and the small goddess nodded gratefully and took a light step inside, it almost looked like she was floating, her eyes were back at a striking purple. “Thank you, tea would be lovely while I wait, but I fear that only Darcy has been summoned. I cannot take another along.”

“Darcy is going nowhere without me. We were married yesterday and as her husband I have every right to accompany her, especially if she is accused of some crime she didn't commit. The High King can't be seriously suspecting her? He can't think she stole something during our wedding night? Because trust me, I would have noticed if she went missing during that.”

“I've heard of the _Favor_ you used.” Iris sneered at him, spitting that vile word like a viper, and golden feathered wings reappeared, fanning out behind her as much as the hallway allowed.

Brock’s eyes darkened the red of spilled blood and his canines lengthened at the threat. It wasn’t even a conscious decision to shift his weight and Darcy was suddenly behind him, blocked from the tiny goddesses view.

“Iris,” Darcy's voiced softly. “Please don't.”

“Yes, Iris. Please. _Don’t,_ ” Circe’s plea on the other hand carried steel and magic; the warning even Iris could not ignore.

The other goddess huffed at her words, her eyes looking pointedly at Darcy's injured hand lightly gripping her husband’s bicep as she peered around his frame, but her wings fold back neatly and she turned her attention towards Circe. “I would enjoy some fruit tea if you have any?”

There is a moment where the Mistress of the house stared down the Rainbow Goddess, who had the good grace to look at least a bit ashamed of her behavior that went against the unspoken Guesting Rights.

Poor form on the goddess’s part but it was clear the tiny goddess felt strongly about Darcy's situation.

“This way, please,” Circe gestured. His mother lead the goddess towards the kitchen and he found himself breathing a sigh of relief.

Neither Brock nor Darcy made a move for several long moments.

Brock chanced a glance at his bride, to find her staring at him almost in a daze as if to ask what happened. She gave a bleak smile and then just turned to make the journey down the hall to the stairs.

He followed Darcy up the stairs and towards his room, their room. The way she held herself while walking upstairs, that forced calmness was disturbing. He wasn’t going to say anything until they were in the relative safety of the room. He trusted his mother’s wards more than anything else at this point.

“Darcy?” he sounded her name out like a question, slowly approaching her when she stopped in the middle of their room and glared at the floor.

“What was that?” she gritted at him angrily. “You ask me to give you a chance and the very next opportunity you get you … act like an asshole? Speaking of me like I'm your possession! You lied to her … that we shared a … bed?” she trailed off, stuttering, a lovely blush spreading across her neck and face. Her hands were crossed in front of her chest and she was shaking.

“First off, I think calling me an asshole for this moment is overreacting and uncalled for, sweetheart. No! Let me finish. Please,” he placed a forefinger gently upon her lips when it looked like she was going to protest. He may be an asshole but he was going to nip this in the bud right here. Darcy was too important for this to fester.

Once he was satisfied she was going to let him continue, he moved his index finger off her lips to be replaced with his thumb. Gaia, he loved that bottom lip.

“Secondly, I never lied to anyone, baby. Last night _was_ our wedding night, unorthodox as it was. And despite the fact that I was not participating in the normal events of such a night, I would have definitely noticed if you had went missing. Which we all know you did not.”

Brock pulled her against his chest once more, arms wrapping around her in a protective manner and she doesn't pull away or refuses his touch.

“They'll know,” she breathed out, arms rubbing over her upper arms and wriggling in his grasp until her face is buried in his chest. “Hera will know that our marriage hasn't been consummated.”

He gave the top of her head a sweet kiss, closing his eyes and breathing deep her scent. She smelled of the hair tonic she washed with earlier, one that she had found in his shower and it gave him a primal feeling of satisfaction that she smelled a bit like him. She also scented faintly of the various herbs and flowers, of sunshine, of sweat and grass from the day’s exertions.

“Do you really think anyone is going to question if you’ve slept with me on our wedding night? It is none of their flipping business. I spent the entire night – perhaps a bit sloshed – but the entire night I was parked right outside that door. I have told you earlier, that your continued existence is one of my top priorities, and so is your happiness. After having faced down a Hydra that was sicced on you by your own mother, in a childhood home that you should have been the safest, do you really think I would leave your safety to chance?”

Darcy’s breath hitched at the reminder of her mother’s actions and Brock tightened his hold. He had to take a few moments to calm his breathing; it was difficult not to take offense or be so hurt at her insinuations.

“And in case you don’t know, my mother is one of the best if not _the_ best magic wielders in the realms. Her wards would be difficult for even you to breach, and these particular ones around my room have been attuned to you as well as me. Any significant magical build up would have triggered an alert; you couldn’t have left without anyone’s knowledge.”

“I, what? What wards?” Darcy spluttered and she could feel and hear the sigh he released as she squirmed to glare up at him. Bastard wasn’t even afraid.

“Baby, there are wards all over this place. Yes, you couldn’t have left without the wards notifying myself or my mother that you were gone. But _carina_ ,” he gently tugged a finger under her chin and made her look up at him. “You would have known if _I_ were to have left as well. It goes both ways, love.”

“Let me _protect_ you,” Brock continued to gently plead while running his arms over hers reassuringly. “I'll tell them whatever will keep you safe from Zeus wrath, you did nothing wrong but I don't put it past him not to still try to blame you anyway. But I don’t see the need to lie when we have the truth on our side.”

Brock tamped down on his anger. Darcy didn't deserve this, didn't deserve any of the bullshit the gods pulled.

She finally relaxed and leaned against him with a heavy sigh. “The King will try everything to see me suffer; he's an ass like that.”

“Darcy … my little wifey, I can play that asshole husband he expects me to be, wants me to be.” Eyes burning a fierce red he pressed his forehead to hers in a loving gesture. “I'm good at playing an asshole. I'm going to make it clear you spent the night in my bed; which you did in fact, do. Again, it isn’t anyone’s business but our own that we didn’t consummate. You’d be surprised at the amount of divine couples who took a while to do their spousal ‘duty’,” he rolled his eyes. “Not that we have to announce that fact.”

“You would lie to the King of Gods for me?” she questioned him a bit breathy, their foreheads still touching and his gleaming crimson eyes were still meeting hers.

“Darcy, I'd lie to my mother for you! But don't tell her, I don't fancy being turned into a pig for the rest of my life.” he teased her and she couldn't help the soft desperate giggle that escaped her throat. He tugged her injured arm up gently, fingers ghosting over the bandages. “Again, not lying if we’re telling the truth, sweetheart.”

“Brock … the King kept my lightning in his vault. If that is what has been stolen then he has good reasons to suspect me.”

“But you don't have your lightning, nor can he have any evidences against you since it clearly wasn't you. He has no grounds to hold you accountable for _anything_. Besides? How could you have fled this island and gone to Olympus? There are no portals and you don’t even know where the boats are kept on this island, much less know which direction to go. My mother doesn’t even have any premade transportation potions, I used the last one to get us from the Underworld to here, remember? She hasn’t had a _need_ to make anymore, and it will be days yet before the batch she started is finished. And since that jerk of a sire of mine took your wings, you had no means of making it to Olympus. He has absolutely nothing, he can't have anything. He's only trying to throw the blame somewhere.”

“Darcy,” he continued. “This will not be easy. I'm going to be acting like they know me, as Crossbones. I'm going to be rough,” Brock pulled on her hand a little harsher than he had ever done before and leaned down to grasp her face in a gentle but unyielding grip. “To fool them. I'm going to be that asshole you're always accusing me of being.” he informed her. “Can you deal with that?”

“Yes,” she stuttered out, her eyes wide as he held her against him in a way he had never done before. “Yes,” she repeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send love and cheescake for my cowriter [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> She's the best!


	19. Olympus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send all your love to [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> This chapter is mostly her work.

Staring at her shocked reflection, she hated it. Absolutely, irrevocably, fueled by the passion of a thousand dying suns, she fucking hated it.

Circe had somehow managed to save the dress she had arrived in.

Darcy wished there had been no redeeming it.

There was no sign that the glorious flowing piece of silk and veils had ever been sloshed with blood and dirt. It was as beautiful as it had been when she first donned it yesterday morning. The pink diamond flowers adorning it glittered with every move and made her cringe.

How could she have ever found it beautiful?

It’s not as if the outfit itself meant to be an accessory of doom.

Darcy clenched her fists and gritted her teeth against the tears she fought welling up. She felt like a dress up doll, a pawn in a game her mother played. There was no more joy to be found in this once beautiful creation; the memories of betrayal and terror had tainted what she once found wonderful and perhaps that was the saddest truth of all.

Not to mention, the rough conversation she just had with her husband before fleeing to dress in this mockery of an outfit kept running around her mind on repeat.

“ _You ask me to give you a chance! And the next opportunity you…act like an asshole!”_

“ _First off, I think calling me an asshole for this moment is overreacting and uncalled for, sweetheart.”_

Darcy had the decency to feel ashamed, she felt like a little girl called out on a temper tantrum after calling Brock an asshole. His gentle but firm reprimands only served to make her heart feel heavier with guilt and embarrassment; she vaguely had been aware that she had been out of line, but adrenaline and the fear of having to deal with Zeus and his court after the past couple of days did not lend itself to rationality.

Any other male would have probably smacked her. Bound as she was to him there was no need for him to treat her the way he did.

It wasn't like she could leave him.

The fact that Brock was able to not only comfort her and help her get a hold of herself, but that he also came up with a plan was all the more impressive.

Should that surprise her though?

An extended life mortal he may be, but Brock had already survived quite a lot. And say what you will, but going through SHIELD, becoming not just a member but a commander of the elite STRIKE taskforce, being a triple (or would it be quadruple with the divine spying?) agent for SHIELD and SHIELDRA, going undercover, being grievously injured, playing mercenary, and finally becoming part of STARK/AVENGERS TOWER security … that was all actually freaking impressive.

The kind of mental and physical fortitude any one of those things required was nothing to sneer at.

Even at the Tower Darcy had been given glimpses of the intelligence behind the brawn. It was telling that she had compared his machismo to that of Stark; both men hiding behind and playing up aspects of stereotyping in a modern day, ‘Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain'!

To say nothing of what he obviously went through growing up as the son of a true asshole like Ares; Circe’s haunted look as she told her just the Cliff Notes © summarization of what Brock had suffered would not leave her alone. Nor did the scene from this morning’s breakfast, a mortal Brock against his divine sire with no hope of winning, in a foolish attempt to protect his mother … her chest felt constricted.

“ _I spent the entire night – perhaps a bit sloshed – but the entire night I was parked right outside that door. I have told you earlier…your continued existence is one of my top priorities …”_

“ _Let me protect you.”_

”He’s in love with me,” she mouthed with suddenly wide eyes to her reflection.

The dawning realization shouldn't surprise her this much; he had been courting her for some time now, rocky as it had been, and he offered her a ring after all that had occurred. She had seen how crestfallen he had been even drunk when she had refused both it and his apologies, twisting her words cruelly with the intention to harm.

Had it truly been this morning? Too many things had happened, were still happening, in these past two days.

She regretted them now, those blasted words; she had just been so angry, so very, very angry. And he had been the one on the receiving end of the anger when in all fairness that anger should have been directed at her mother.

Not that he hadn't used the Favor to bind her ...

“ _Don't worry my darling; he'll be the perfect alibi for you.”_

Her mother's words hadn't made sense when she had fallen into unconsciousness from whatever drug or spell had been used on her, but now …

Damn it all to Tartarus, Mother! What have you done?!

She took one last glance at the mirror in Brock's bathroom, _their_ bathroom, she corrected herself mentally. The silk and veils still clung to her body like a lover’s caress, and the tantalizing display while being hidden would drive all those perverts on Olympus crazy. It still felt as if she were wearing nothing, yet she couldn’t find any enthusiasm for the dual weapon it had become.

Darcy clenched her fists, she felt like a dress up doll, a pawn in a game her mother played.

Should she tell Brock about Loki?

She had left that tiny detail out so far. Honestly, even she had forgotten about the Asgardian raised prince in the face of her mother’s ill conceived plotting. By the time she had, and had gained back some trust in Brock, she had no idea how to even bring it up. Should she? Would it make that big of a difference with the Olympian contingent breathing down their – her – throat?

No, she decided, she wouldn't tell him.

If he didn't know he wouldn't have to lie if asked, granting him this small mercy was the least she could do.

Shoulders back, chin up, she pivoted in a swirl of silk and headed out. She attempted to be silent about it, but perhaps it wasn’t, as Brock looked up from his own preparations to look at her the moment she opened the door.

Brock, who was _not_ wearing either a modern suit or an ancient chiton with a himation draped above it like would be expected when one visited Olympus.

_Nope._

Her husband was wearing another set of leather armor, this time with a fancy bronze breast plate.

His trusty twin swords were secured on his back in a crossed fashion; his feet clad in leather greave sandals. Wrist bracers as well as leather and metal worked bands graced his wrists and biceps.

So what if her gaze lingered on these muscular arms for a moment too long?

His chocolate colored eyes blazed with red and returned the favor, traveling over her unashamed before settling on her eyes, the cocky and crooked smile he gave her made her heart beat faster. He made a pleased sort of rumbling thrumming within his throat and chest ala Geralt of Rivia that seemed to vibrate straight to her lower bits and no, no that wasn’t sexy at all, it wasn’t!

She wasn't, no, there was no way she was in love with her husband…was there?

 _No_ , she thought to herself, giving herself a shake and biting her lip. _This was just the stress of the last days._

Her heart was beating furiously when he walked closer and took her hand in his, crimson eyes searching hers while he almost hesitantly slipped a ring onto her finger.

Just lust.

There was an identical band on his own finger.

No freaking way.

Her heart drummed a counterpoint.

~~~

Between one moment and the next, with a flutter of golden feathered wings and a prismed kaleidoscope of flickering color, the Rainbow Goddess took them from where they were to just _there._ Standing on smooth, white washed Greek marble, they braced against the wind that gripped at their hair and clothing in dragging claws.

“This is as far as I can take you, the Council is up ahead.” The tiny goddess squeezed the hand Darcy had been holding onto, giving a sympathetic smile. “Stay safe.”

And with one last imploring look at Darcy, the elfin goddess was gone, leaving nothing behind but a short golden shimmer quickly fading into nothing.

For a moment the pair stood on the marble platform they had appeared on and Brock took in his surroundings with an equal mixture of alert awe and confusion. This was Olympus, but at the same time it wasn't. This wasn't a floating city in the sky like the last time he had been here, this was a floating city in _space_.

Never had he seen the stars with such clarity. There were so many of them, too numerous to count, and so close now he couldn’t really make out any familiar constellations. But the colors! The swirls of nebula, the sheen of distant suns … magnificent.

 _Competing with Asgard?_ Brock quirked a mocking smile at the thought. He recalled a few nights getting drunk with Thor, and listening to the Norse Thunder god wax poetic about his home among the cosmos.

An almost transparent dome covered Olympus as far as he could see, unlike the last time when all had been covered in clouds and a too bright blue sky. There were buildings, large and small, far more than he remembered and only a few of them had balconies of note. The entire city was made out of gold and marble it seemed. Airy sweeping columns, and impressive courtyards and waterworks; statues of the patron deities most likely and lush verdant flora. Gleaming torches flickering ambient light in the darkness.

And below, a gleaming jewel of blues and browns and greens and swirling white and grey clouds … Earth.

Holy Gaia!

He was staring he realized, when Darcy tugged ever so softly on his arm.

Brock removed his gaze as soon as he felt someone approach them, with one quick apologetic gaze thrown at Darcy he switched his hold on her hand, unlacing their fingers and instead grasping her delicate wrist in a firm grip, forcing her arm up in an awkward way.

A slight shift in his stance and he took in Hermes who was gliding towards them with those strange feathered boots of his. And that dumbass hat. Helmet. Whatever. It had fucking wings on it like his damn boots. Dark hair was slicked back and his boyish face showed his confusion at his presence.

“Son of Ares, number … who the fuck cares? What a surprise!”

“Hermes,” Brock nodded in polite acknowledgment of the deity before him. One of his many Divine Uncles, not to mention one of his least favorites. And there were many; so, so many.

It was an effort not to smite Zeus’ favorite dude bro messenger boy. For a being that was credited as being a god of eloquence, he was notoriously obnoxious to those he considered beneath him.

This happened to be the vast majority of beings on Earth. Brock hated to admit it, but looking at the Grecian counterpart of Loki made him miss the Jotun-born Asgardian prince.

Hermes’ gaze traveled over them, briefly honing in on his hold on his wife, a nasty smile appearing as he addressed the former goddess.

“Darcy, it's _such_ a pleasure to see you again, may I say you look simply ravishing tonight?”

Just when Darcy was about to spit a reply at the messenger god, Brock tugged her harshly against him, making her gasp and stumble into his armored side. Her head snapped up and she bared her teeth at him, glaring but he just smirked and turned his attention to Hermes.

“Let's cut the pleasantries, I want to know why my _wife_ has been called before the Council.”

Hermes cocked his head in acknowledgment and mockingly gestured with one hand towards the towering building in front of them. “This way please.”

As soon as Hermes turned his back to them Brock glanced down at Darcy who shot him a dirty look. He gave her a wink, and her glare intensified, mouthing 'asshole' at him. His own smirk widened.

“Come along, _wife_ ,” he sneered, all but dragging Darcy after him as he took off after the Winged Wonder.

He was all too aware that there was a very complicated history between Zeus’s Herald and the Underworld. As the daughter of the Lord of the Underworld, Darcy undoubtedly had her own experiences with the Herald; not any of them good it would seem.

He could only pray to _Gaia_ that he lived long enough to earn her forgiveness.

~~~

It was a work of extreme self-control to not lay hands on his nephew’s mortal born son.

Hades had to grip the edge of his council seat to get control of the vicious urge to kill Crossbones right in front of the entire Council.

Oh, but how his heart clenched in pain and raged at the same when the ill mannered warmonger practically dragged his little flower inside the chambers. The look of abject misery and fury on her face one that pierced his father’s protective instincts; the sight of her in the very dress she had been gifted like a lamb to the slaughter had him seething.

Bastard child, he didn’t even allow her the chance at fresh clothing!

Surely, Circe would never allow her son to treat a woman thusly … then again; the lad had spent much of his youth under Ares’ sharp tutelage. He had to remind himself that right now, to keep Darcy safe, this mortal bastard, served as her alibi.

The young warling demigod had a firm grip around her wrist and pulled her along unmindful of the fact that his own strides were far too long for his little flower, she stumbled along unceremoniously. Her free hand clutched into the folds of her dress, to lift the long skirt so she would be able to keep up, the delicate appendage swathed in bandages of a wound that had not been there before.

The sight of it made his blood boil in anger. She was harmed, that bastard had laid hand on her?! She was supposed to be safe!

Persephone, not being granted her own seat at the Council and standing behind him, noticeably stiffened. Her fingers, which had at first rubbed his shoulder reassuringly, now too were clenched painfully tight, manicured nails turning claw like and digging into his shoulder. She had obviously made the same observation as him.

He wanted to snarl his anger at his wife; she had assured him again and again that their little flower would be safe.

 _He loves her_ , she had tried to appease him and despite his better judgment he had believed her. Because it was so easy to believe, his little flower was a precious treasure and any male should be lucky if she even glanced their way.

A little twist in her plan, his wife had called it when the Ares' son had called upon the Favor.

Hades fumed, cold deathly ire rolling off of him so openly that Athena, who was seated nearest to him turned her blue gaze upon him, one single brow raised. Not in question, there was no doubt the goddess of wisdom had made the same observation as him and come to a similar conclusion. Athena no doubt knew why he did not strike the mortal down where he stood.

“Son of Ares, born of Circe!” Zeus’ loud voice boomed like thunder, electricity sparking around him. More than one God or Goddess, lesser or great, jumped in shock.

Just like that, all eyes focused on their High King. He who could not stand to have the attention of his Divine Person. In that, Hera and Zeus were well matched.

Hades had to suppress an annoyed sigh and a roll of his dark eyes as his younger brother once again skipped protocol, not even giving his daughter or the demigod time to announce their presence or give the proper greeting.

“I do not recall summoning you,” Zeus continued. The irritation in the king's voice promised an interesting show.

Hades would stay his hand against his new son-in-law if only for this unexpected wrench in his brother’s plans. Catching one of the servant’s eye, he gestured with his other hand, and a goblet of Dionysus’ best wine was placed within it.

He had a feeling he was going to need more than just this glass. Tossing back the whole goblet, he emptied it in a rare showing of ill manners. Another gesture and the servant rushed to bring the whole _amphora_ close by to refill.

~~~

Brock for his part didn't let the irritation in the King of Gods voice faze him, he was far more concerned by the rolling cloud of hatred Darcy's father presented. The Lord of the Underworld appeared seconds away from smiting his person himself. The only thing that appeared to stop him, aside from Queen Persephone’s grip, would be the fact that Zeus would not take kindly to anyone other than himself striking down someone in his own Halls.

Darcy had come to a stumbling halt beside him and squared her shoulder defiantly glaring in no particular direction, stealing glances at her father every so often. It was noticeable to him that she refused to even look at her mother and Brock couldn’t blame her.

From his elevated golden throne, Zeus looked down at them, lounging against the arm rests casually. Blond curly hair was cut short and his beard neatly trimmed, electric blue eyes traveled over them, openly leering at Darcy while playing with a cup of ambrosia with his right hand before contemplatively moving to him.

He was attractive the same way a rattle snake was attractive. Beautiful patterns but absolutely lethal.

“No, you did not, my King,” Brock agreed, fearlessly meeting Zeus’ blazing blue orbs with his own dark gaze, careful to keep any hint of crimson power at bay and drawing the king's attention from the grip he still had on Darcy's arm to him. “But you did summon the Lady Darcy who is my wife as per the Favor you granted me in all your wisdom and mercy. Is it not my right and duty to accompany her to all courtly matters, as a proper steward of the gift you have bestowed?“

There is a small moment were Zeus seemed to think over his words before a smile appeared on his lips, it looked pleasant enough, but Brock wasn't fool enough to fall for it. The gods had a way about them, to make themselves appear more appealing to mortals and although Zeus wasn't known for being sly, he did manage to charm his more than fair share of ladies. If that didn't work he either threatened or shape-shifted into another form.

“Ah yes, the _Favor._ I had felt you using it.” Zeus smile turned just a bit sharper. “And I must say that you did not use it like I expected. A rather archaic means of cashing in on a Favor. A pleasant surprise though, don't you think so my queen?” Zeus turned his attention to his own godly wife. “It _has_ been _so long_ since one of our Court has been married.”

Hera, Queen of the Gods, First among Women returned her husband’s gaze, emotions hidden, before nodding softly and turning her honey golden eyes upon Brock. “Yes, a _pleasant_ surprise.”

Befitting her status as Queen of Gods, she was arranged in an iridescent turquoise dress fashioned to look like peacock feathers, the almost ombre of dark to stunning blue and green’s setting off the shimmery smooth fairness of her skin. Thick, luscious hair the color of spun gold was elaborately coifed and braided, the jeweled diadem of her crown interwoven. She sat regal and posture perfect upon her own throne, staring him down with a tight lipped smile before turning her regard towards Darcy.

“My brother, the Lord of the Underworld’s daughter, Darcy. It is a pleasure to see you after so long an absence at Court. I trust you to be faring well?” the queen inquired, silky honeyed tones not masking the cruel reminder of exactly why she had been absent.

Shifting in his grasp, twisting her wrist and tugging on his hold on her until he reluctantly let go of her, Darcy took the slightest step away from his side and fell into a deep curtsy.

“I am doing well, Queen Hera, thank you for your kind inquiry. I hope the Queen Mother to be faring well herself, and her Lord Husband, the King?”

Brock abstained from rolling his eyes in played annoyance of the small talk and once again moved his fingers around her wrist, courtesies rendered, and she tried to pull her arm away but he is persistent, fingers flexing against her soft skin in warning. The almost unnoticeable clenching of her jaw the only sign of her aggravation.

“I am a bit tired from yesterday’s festivals which were quite the spectacle. I am sure you would have enjoyed them as well had you been present.” Hera mused with false civility. The soft titter of the surrounding crowd murmured at the news disgusted Brock.

This was why he preferred the battlefield. There was a raw honesty in the struggle between the living and those who tried their hardest not to meet with Hades too soon.

“I am deeply sorry to have missed the summer festival, Your Highness. I am quite sure it was a marvelous exhibition, having been directed under your stunning guidance,” Darcy tells her courteously and Brock taps his foot impatiently at the politicking. It was a sharp reminder that Darcy’s political science degree was born of the necessity of having lived at this Court.

“Enough of your woman's talk!” Zeus demanded, fist slamming down on the armrest of his throne, causing lightning to spark and hiss, the ice blues turning into molten white briefly erasing any homes for shadows to hide. The harsh scent of ozone and the prickle of goosebumps didn’t affect just Brock and Darcy; the entire assembly shifted in disquiet and conversations rose and were hushed.

The action caused Darcy to shift in his grip once more and he glanced down at her briefly, taking in a quick flash of surprise crossing her features before she bit the inside of her cheek.

 _Interesting_.

“Your wife, son of Ares, has been summoned because during the festival yesterday evening someone broke into my personal vault,” he thundered angrily, the air sparking with electricity around him. Even Hera made the tiniest of motions to shuffle away from him. “She was the only goddess not participating, the only one missing from the festival, the only one who could have stolen the lightning.”

Brock had to bite back a growl and instead forced himself to remain calm.

“My Lord, High King Zeus … such an offense is surely the work of a truly troubled person or persons. Perhaps it hasn't escaped your notice that yesterday evening was my _wedding night,”_ he emphasized the last three words out and could swear he heard a chuckle from some of the other gods. “I assure you, my Lord, I would have noticed if my wife, the gift whom you gave me your Favor, went _missing_.”

Darcy's face turned a lovely shade of red which made the whole situation all the more convincing even as more titters and guffaws of the surrounding flock filled the court. Hades snarled and in the background Ares boisterously laughed loudly much to the annoyance of Zeus, who glowered at his least favorite offspring.

“Ares!” he scolded sharply before turning back to him. “Are you sure?”

Brock could only gape at him in complete disbelief, grip tightening on Darcy’s wrist who hissed. Darcy’s face turned even ruddier even as she cast her eyes down, biting her lip hard. No one missed her free hand balling the material of her dress, nor the hand suspended in her husband’s grip clenching on air.

“Husband!” Hera interrupted. “I am pretty sure he would have noticed something like that.”

The Queen Mother raised a brow at her husband who looked utterly pissed. She turned her attention back to Brock and regally asked. “But please, clarify the whereabouts of your…wife.”

Yep, she definitely knew they hadn't consummated their marriage but for whatever reason, his grandmother didn't feel the need to call them out on it. Just the opposite, in fact, she seemed to play in their favor.

“After acquiring her hand in marriage, I used the last and only portal potion I had to remove myself and Darcy to my home. I'm sure you've heard of Ææa?” Brock questioned.

“The enchanted island of the sorceress Circe, your mother.” Hera nodded her head elegantly, even as a disgusted scoff that could have only come from Aphrodite was cut short as Ares eyed the crowd.“I have heard of her, she has impressive wards all over that island of hers and it never stays in the same place. It would be difficult for anyone to find yet alone leave wouldn't it?”

There is a soft murmur of hushed voices among the gathered gods, no doubt riddled with gossip about his mother.

“As her father, the great Lord of the Underworld witnessed, I took my bounty and my little wifey spent the whole night in my bed. Whoever stole from you must have been someone else. She couldn't have left even if she tried.” Brock nodded in confirmation, his grandmother was suspiciously helpful and Darcy was surprisingly silent throughout the entire interaction. “And I have been assured by my sire, Ares, that such a feat would be impossible as Darcy is all but mortal now. In his infinite wisdom, did not your King and Husband give the order to punish her impertinence by removing her wings?”

It was as if all the warmth had been removed from the very air itself.

The chill of the grave almost seemed to mute the clattering of something hitting the floor, a drinking cup and a shattered _amphora_ hemorrhaging wine the dark stain of blood.

The entire assembly trembled, breath fogging in front of them, as they witnessed a spectral of dark mist and ghoulish form, but no Hades to be seen.

The wind itself seemed to pick up and carry the screams of the damned and the dead.

Athena was cringing, pressed as hard as she could be against the opposite of the tier she had been on, staring wide eyed at where the Lord of the Underworld had once been.

In his place, his Queen, Persephone remained with her face as stricken as Brock had ever seen on another. Truly she looked the Lady of the Dead, ashen features and cheekbones stark against suddenly taut skin aged in seconds. Her look of agony speared toward her daughter down below, before she whirled away, the very shadows seeming to swallow as she followed after her husband.

Darcy’s entire face had drained of what color her embarrassment and anger had bequeathed upon her. Being back on Olympus couldn't be easy for her, least of all what had happened to her the last time she was here. His father had cut her wings off but he had also mentioned that she had been held down, so she was practically surrounded by people who hurt her mentally or physically.

“How could a now gelded _demigod_ dare breach Olympus’ skies?”

Never let it be said Brock Rumlow couldn’t take what was given to him and make it work.

“How could she indeed, young Crossbones,” Zeus smiled, a truly terrible thing, his temper appeased for the moment. “Indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the THANKS and all the HUGS for [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> She wrote most of this chapter, I simply can't do all this assholery 😜🙄


	20. Good evening

Circe was spitting mad and she didn’t have any fucks left to give. She set a placating hand upon Odysseus’s head though she knew the touch was meant to soothe herself more than her pet. The ancient war boar gave a few grunts in inquiry, baring his tusks and stamping his little hoof.

There was a _knock_!

On her front door!

Again!

Her wards _hadn't_ gone off.

She stared the door down with exasperation as if it could give her the answer of just who was beyond it.

Maybe she should look into some kind of spy wizardry that Brock said was all the rage with mortals these days? What did he call it … surveillance cameras? And maybe she should invest in a giant glass ball, some crystals for ambience, and a frigging scarf and coined headdress while she was at it yelling, _Opa!_ and breaking some of that chintzy pottery one of her many mother-in-laws of years past gifted to her.

It was beside the point. The knock …. Knocking … on her front door. At Hades’ piss dark in the _almost fucking morning!_ What the Underworld was this all about? And just when had her little island of peace suddenly become the next best holiday resort without her knowledge? Did just everyone and their fucking deity just show up?! Unannounced, no prior warning … how rude!

If she ignored the itsy bitsy voice that whispered, _your son,_ well, that was nobody’s business, okay?

But the worst part of it all?

Her wards _hadn't_ _even_ _sounded_ _off_.

It had been a long time since something like that had happened. And when it did, it wasn’t without some divine sort of interference and didn’t that just take the _baklava?_

 _Another_ knock sounded, this time louder and actually _sounding_ impatient.

Impatient. _Them_. The idiot or idiots behind the solid six inches of sturdy enchanted wood. Those same person or persons whom had invaded her privacy while having the gall to be stealthy about it.

Charon, drown whomever the cur is in the Styx!

She hadn’t been this aggravated since that blasted menace Odysseus and his crew found themselves intentionally marooned on her island, aided by the Winged Boy Wonder Hermes. Or just this morning before breakfast when one of her Very Bad Decisions sat across and got his godly behind handed to him on a golden platter via their daughter in law.

She loved that girl. She really did – Persephone had no idea the treasure she birthed. Hades knew…that man was far too clever and underestimated way too much. If he’d take that giant scepter out of his godly bottom a little more often and unclenched, may he wouldn’t be. Oh, well. Too bad her son was already so invested; otherwise, Circe might just have tried her hand at seeing if the other woman played for the home team.

What she did know was that it couldn't be her son or his wife, both would have let themselves inside. Well, Brock would have; Darcy would be a bit more polite, not realizing that her magic would have recognized the pair and opened the door for them immediately, no muss, no fuss. No, this was someone else.

Pulling her dress robe tighter around herself she once again found herself approaching the opening portal of her home.

This was thrice today that she found herself with an uninvited guest.

Bad tidings comes in threes.

Be careful what you wish for, it might just come true.

The old adage had never been more relevant than these last two days.

Ah the good old days, when it wasn't frowned upon when she turned uninvited guests into pigs and occasionally, when they were of a particularly nasty sort; she turned the new animals into a lovely stew.

 _Sigh_.

But those times were indeed long past; perhaps she would turn her new uninvited guest into a raven? There was a potion requiring some feathers and a little plucking wasn't exactly life threatening. It would certainly teach all these pesky visitors to leave her be!

Pulling her dress robe tighter once again she found herself approaching the opening portal of her home. Her mind made up she flared her magic out around her, blue ghost lights appearing in the hallway to illuminate her way. She paused only long enough to grab a seemingly random piece of knobby wood, its tip curving into a fine point, from a shelf full of trinkets. Gripping the wood firmly with her dominant hand, she once again pulled her front door open.

The scathing glare mixed of annoyance and suspicion pinned the little bastard in place. Figuratively.

His hand raised as if in the process of knocking, face set with the sort of irritated disdain achieved only by a royal made to wait, was a man built along long and lean lines gawked at her in surprise. Not so little of a bastard then.

Pity.

The lithe, slender build was clad in gold trimmed leather of deep greens and black. His rather long black hair appeared unkempt, almost greasy in its dishevelment. _Gross. Bathing_ has _been a thing even_ before _the Romans made an orgasmic art of it. Culture stealing from the Greeks, obviously._

The falsely polite – was it supposed to be charming? No, too much mockery there – smile set beneath sharply cut cheekbones faded to confusion at the disgruntled braying snort-grunt as Odysseus shoved his snout past her skirts to threaten his ire at the godling before them.

And he was a godling, perhaps a millennium or just about there but not of Olympus, Circe was certain of that. The runes inlaid in the leather were of no Greek origin but reminiscent of the Northman savages. But more telling, she could sense traces of one of her magical traps upon his person. Traps she created specifically and gifted only for her sons uses. Those electrical doodads that pissed Ares off so much? Her input and design, though the Shieldmen actually crafted it with their ‘technical know-how’.

Green eyes sparkled at her full of curiosity and mischief, hand lowering and tucking neatly behind his back in the same smooth motion as he took a slight step back and bowed ever elegantly.

“Lady Circe,” he began, the smooth silk of a Courtesan’s lie upon his lips, but she interrupted the young god right away.

“You appear to know of me, but I do not know _you._ Leave. And come back in the morning,” she commanded him bluntly and held up one finger in a scolding manner when he seemed about to interrupt her. “I have had it with you gods showing up here unannounced. I already had two Olympian's in my house on this day; I don't need an Asgardian on top of that.”

It was a shot in the dark, but some of the conversations she had with her new daughter the other day had given her a good idea of just who was knocking on her door. She couldn’t say she was that excited. Olympian godlings were entitled asses and bitches of the not complimentary sort; she very much doubted an Asgardian godling was any different. This one in particular.

“I am Loki, of Asgard,” the Norse god acknowledged, eyes narrowing. “We are not known to each other, Circe of Aeaea. I will leave if I must. But I daresay; your defense wards were quite impressive and might I mention … I had thought such a renowned sorceress like yourself would be at least a bit curious about how I managed to outsmart her wards. But alas.”

The overdramatic eye roll and deep sigh were just the syrup on the _Galaktoboureko_. Circe turned sharp blue eye upon the young God of Mischief and with a snarl she flicked her wrist holding the wood that seemed to smooth out and swell with magic. By the way his green eyes widen in complete surprise he hadn't expected her to attack him, and squawked in outrage when he found himself transformed into a raven after being engulfed in the blue burst of magic.

The puff of feathers was comical and a twirl of her wrist disappeared them to her spell room. Magical raven feathers, indeed.

She stared down at his transformed form bemused; she had expected him to be able to block her magic a bit better. A black raven now stood in her doorway and inspected his wings with great interest but in a far too relaxed way for someone who was just turned into a bird. Odysseus gave a snort and sniffed, ruffling the coal feathers and earning an impressive cawing stink eye from the little beasty.

A shimmer of green and the god returned to his humanoid form.

“Well, then, that was quite rude. But I guess that son of yours had to get his nasty disposition from _somewhere,_ hmm?”

This time he was turned into a rabbit and she made to catch him but he hopped a few feet before changing back once more, all the while laughing in absolute glee. The smirk on his lips, the challenging tone and her nerves already raw due to the fact that her son and her daughter in law had been called to Olympus and hadn't returned as of yet … and no one insulted her boy and got away with it.

“Is that the best you have, _Sorceress_?” he jeered, green flickers of flame dancing on long, tapered fingers.

“Oh, precious. This is just the chips and queso!”

“What?”

Circe would never admit to the giggle that erupted out her throat at the high pitched final syllables from the Mischief God as he attempted to dodge a half-hearted lob of balefire at his person. He stared wide-eyed as the thick, heavy stone planter sizzled as it oozed, liquefied, and at what could have been him. She gave a predatory grin at his startled mien, especially when he realized two hundred plus pounds of tusked boar charged him as Odysseus gave his war squeal.

Gaia _she needed this!_

Now only to catch that insolent bastard.

Their chase continued for a while, she would hit him with a spell, which to be honest he didn't even truly attempt to deflect, he would transform into something and he would turn back. The longer this went on, the more she learned, every time he used his strange magicks she was getting a better ‘taste’ of what made him tick.

Circe was vaguely aware that the Nordic god found this quite amusing and to be honest, it was good to be able to vent her magic without fear of causing any real harm, but this game needed to end eventually.

She was quite impressed at the multiple copies he was able to conjure while fighting on his own.

It took talent she could admit to be able to duplicate so many with such precision, while fighting, _and_ using magic.

Quite the companion her daughter in law had found herself with; she approved their continued acquaintance.

Although she wasn’t quite as impressed as when he came at her with dual daggers, their thin silhouette perfect for speed and precision strikes. Only because one of those blades came just a little too close for comfort.

His face was so expressive though, particularly when she met his daggers by extending her wand into its stave form and meeting the attack head on.

It was the work of several minutes, both combatants spinning and parrying. He was fast, very fast, and very talented with those little daggers of his. She kept him back, great sweeps of her staff and tighter, sharper blocks with deadly weighted counterstrikes.

There was a reason that she had caught Ares’ eye in the first place.

Circe was more and more respectful as she relaxed into this familiar dance; it was obvious he had been seriously trained, and by a woman at that. It was in the way he held himself, as if his center of gravity wasn’t that of your traditional male fighter. Only part of that was due to his slender frame; there were enough motions that it was clear he at least sparred with one enough to pick up some tips.

With a poised smile on her face she finally stopped chasing him, holding herself steady and whistling a command for Odysseus to hold his position. The great boar snarled his protest, but obeyed his mistress, having had the time of his little life rousting the intruder, being the perfect little distraction when Circe required.

She was counting on the godling’s little ego to bring him back to her, so she waited. She propped the staff in the crook of her arm as she fluttered about, smoothing down her hair and retying the robe that had come loose and she had allowed to flutter and utilized as a cape.

She didn’t have long to wait, for sure enough he backtracked – just the one, all the little copies tucked snugly back within his person - towards her, taking an alleged casual pose propping himself on one of her apple trees.

 _Hmm, had they really come this far? He’s lucky,_ she gave him her best smile, the one that her boar’s namesake would recognize and quake in fear. _A few more orchards past this one and there would have been more than just Odysseus to worry about._

“What's the matter sorceress? Already out of breath?” he taunted her and she doesn't know why but she can tell he doesn't mean it in a hurtful way. Maybe it was his stance or the tone of that ambrosia smooth voice but this felt a lot like _flirting_ all of sudden.

 _Oh, it had been a long time since she had such a suitor,_ Circe arched an eyebrow at him and calmly inspected her fingernails.

“No, I just decided that you are not worth chasing around and I'm far too tired to deal with the mediation required between the pouting that my wolves, bears, and lions would give fighting over your corpse. I'll see you in the morning, _boy_.”

 _Oh that hit a spot_ , from the look on his face and the sudden feral baring of teeth.

“I am no mere boy, _witch_ ,” He stalked towards her dangerously, eyes blazing and she smiled at him sweetly, a flicker of motion and her staff became a wand, the spell already hurtling toward him.

“I think a night as a pig will do you some good, wizardling.”

Circe could see him form the counter spell to what he assumed was a transformation spell and then the widening of green eyes when her own reversal spell hits him, the realization of being duped in those stunning green eyes! Oh how that must hurt his fragile man-boy’s ego that she had tricked him, the Norse God of Mischief at his own game.

His own spell turning him into a cute tiny teacup pig.

That’s what he got for assuming she was a one trick pony, she smirked as she gazed upon her menageries newest recruit.

The miniature pig, all black and with unnatural green eyes blazing wounded male fury at her and she couldn't contain the mirthful laughter any longer and it spilled forth from her lips until there were tears in her eyes.

Circe looked at him for a brief moment longer before turning to walk back towards her house. “If you behave you can sleep in the living room and if not … I'm sure Odysseus will share his pen with you.”

She giggled all the way back to the house and hummed a little tune to the little patter of piggy feet behind her.

It would be a while before he could untangle his own magicks and her own.

“This little piggy went to the market….”

~~~

“We have a honeymoon to go back to, don't we?”

His hand grasped her chin and she struggled against his hold with a viscous snarl, he smirked down at her all the more and she spat at him in fury, he outright laughed.

With those words Brock had excused them from the Olympian Court after hours more of false platitudes and more bullshit than cow’s pasture. He dragged her back outside, his hold on her wrist easing with every step they took. They were already halfway to the platform they had appeared on when a distant shout for Darcy made Brock's gaze flicker behind them. He felt a deep throated snarl rise up and knew he had to get themselves to safety as soon as possible.

Darcy doesn't slow down in the slightest and seemed to pick up her pace instead, before hissing a rough plea at him through gritted teeth.

“Please don't stop.”

She's pale, almost sickeningly so and trembling, but he had no choice as the god behind them approached fast and is now commanded him by name to halt.

Curse of being a demigod – low man on the totem pole, just barely above the human ‘scum’.

He couldn't ignore that. Even when he wanted to … especially when he wanted to.

Coming to a halt he twirled her into his arms, her back to the deity, and held her in place with one arm banding behind the small of her waist and the other still firmly clasped around her wrist. He pressed her against his body, and his gaze focused in the god chasing after them.

Not that any of _them_ would ever admit to something so plebian.

The male deity had dark bronze skin that looked as if he had either bathed in gold or was a victim of that Victoria’s Secret bronzing spray one of his flightier exes had been prone to use. Even his hair was monochromic to match, and how horrible was that? He was sporting a white (intentionally & unnecessarily tight in his opinion) chiton that seemed to glow against all that golden bronzed flesh; his himation was a dark blue, embroidered with blazing gold suns.

Like most of the deities, he was tall and had an athletic build. His muscles appeared to have muscles, every one of them sculpted and well overdone. Cap could potentially be jealous of that shoulder to hip ratio. Not that Brock was comparing; he was a gym rat, yeah, but even he knew better than to body build like this.

How was that guy’s tiny ass holding up … all of _that?_

At least he didn’t seem to skip leg day, Brock would give him that.

Clearly this was Apollo, God of the Sun.

That Great Charioteer; Brock had the strongest urge to call him Arnold or make a joke about getting to the choppah. Or ask if Conan the Barbarian gave him royalties.

“Son of Ares,” the Sun God sniffed with a jerk of his chin, one hand pushing away a strand of dark hair (hairflip!), eyes a strange swirling of orange, yellow, and reds (mini suns!). “A word with your wife … please.”

Darcy is very, very still in his hold, if one ignored that she was trembling as a whole. The way a mouse froze as the raptor prowled the skies overhead. Unfortunately, there was no way Apollo could have missed it from the intense gaze he had set upon her person right in front of him.

“Everything you have to say to my wife can be said in front of me.”

Brock allowed no room for disagreement and didn't hold back the possessive snarl from his voice. He would be damned if he allowed this particular deity to speak to her alone; he didn't trust any of the Olympians, especially not after tonight's display of their cruelty.

The Olympian sneered at him openly before turning his gaze to Darcy once more, but Darcy stubbornly refused to look at him. Instead she optioned for staring at Brock's breast plate, a very interesting piece of metal it seemed. Her free hand clutched at the armor on his waist, and no, he wasn’t imaging her pinky brushing against his sword; his actual sword! The extra sword he grabbed since his two main swords weren’t enough for his taste. His arm spanned the width of her hips so he didn’t hesitate to grasp her side in warning.

Leave the xiphos alone, sweetheart, he willed her.

Apollo huffed and crossed his arms. “I still own you a Favor for what transpired between us,” he began, looking out at the stars when she still refused to meet his gaze. When she doesn't utter a word at his announcement he sighed. “What I mean to say is… that I made a mistake.”

A gasp of surprise and Darcy’s head whipped toward the side, staring at her former suitor. Who noticed her gaze and preened, puffing out his already impressive chest girth like a freaking puffin. Or puffer fish. Yeah, Brock glared at his (former) rival, a real blow fish.

“Had I known back then how beautiful you would grow up to be … I would have put more effort in courting you,” the Charioteer gloated, “So if you want, you may use that Favor and ask me to strike your current husband down. I could talk to Father into gracing me with yourself as my victory spoil. If we play our cards right, you _might_ even get your powers back.”

“You have _got_ to be tripping on Bacchus’ right butt cheek,” Brock muttered. Oh, Apollo boy, you just fucked up.

“Oh Apollo,” Darcy breathed in complete shock at the same time, before seemingly gathering her wits. “You couldn't just have stopped speaking at 'I made a mistake'? Because you really should have taken the hint by now that I am not interested in you. And just to remind you, as perhaps it has failed your notice, but I already _am_ a victor's spoil. And my powers were stolen from this very place and it was made very clear to me that I was never going to get them back. There is nothing, absolutely nothing you can offer me.”

Brock's heart might have skipped a beat when she shot the god down and then turned to him.

“Please take me home now husband, I'm very tired.”

“As my wife commands. Apollo.”

Brock didn’t wait for permission, just used his current grip on her to sweep Darcy off her feet, and strode off as swiftly as he was able without seeming to be retreating.

“He's going to die at some point Darcy!” the Sun God called after them.

Darcy flipped him off.

~~~

They must look like idiots, Brock thought, once the annoyingly prism aura that followed Iris like Nightcrawler’s obnoxious stench had faded away.

The soft chatter of the pre-dawn insect orchestra fought for attention against the pounding tympani of the surf. An owl hooted in the wood, and here he stood with his wife, near his mother’s gardens. If the look on his face matched hers, they were well and truly pole axed over the night’s events.

Darcy was still in his arms, not wanting to release him even after their Rainbow Express had stopped by to return them. Not that Brock was complaining – he didn’t feel like moving from this spot, much less away from those soft curves pressed so sweetly against his own rough edges. They stood like that for long moments, two survivors taking solace in the silence and the other’s company.

Loathe as he was to move when he had her against him so willingly, Brock sighed, as he heard the mournful howl of a wolf telling the waning moon goodbye to another night. Darcy startled, and it reminded him that Odysseus wasn’t the only creature his mother let roam this island. He knew they were safe enough so close to the main estate, but he wasn’t going to tempt those Fates any further.

“Darcy,” Brock began softly, thumbs circling her wrists against the bruises he hated were there. Fingerprints to match his own hands. She began shaking her head and backing away. He followed her steps as if in a strange sort of dance.

“What did he mean? When he said 'grow up to be'?” he questioned and she turned away from him and started towards the house. “How old _were_ you when Apollo tried to court you?”

Her arms came up to rub her upper arms and she still had her back turned to him, shoulders sagging.

“Brock I'm tired, can we please just not? I need some time.” Her pace increased as she wove through the garden, bee-lining it for the side door by the kitchen, the closest entryway.

It was no trouble for him to keep pace, trying not to think of it as stalking, but the question kept nagging at him.

“Darcy, how old are you?”

His voice is firm, demanding an answer and he finally pulled her against him, just before the door.

“Brock, _please_ ,” she drawed out the 'please' but his hold on her is tight, not allowing her to escape but not tight enough to actually harm her.

 _Kind of nice_ , actually, she muses tiredly.

She just wanted to be safe. She just wanted to curl up and forget, just for a moment.

“Wifey,” he whispered into her ear, nibbling on it softly. “Please tell me how old you were?”

Her body couldn’t help but react now that they were on good terms with the man before her. Damn that elevator make-out, giving him all sorts of ideas.

“I was fourteen,” she finally blurted out, tears streaming down her cheeks as a sob wrecked her body. “I don't want to talk about it, not now, please Brock, please.”

“Alright, it's alright Darcy, you don't have to, hush.” Brock quickly backtracked, turning her around in his arms and allowing her to sob into his chest.

 _Fourteen_.

By Tartarus she had been fourteen when she fended off Zeus. When she had her wing cut off and was banished from her home, her parents. His blood ran hot and cold with rage and horror at the thought. If her file was correct that would make her thirty nine years old. His little goddess was younger than him!

Oh damn it all.

“Hey, hey, hush now,” he rubbed her back in a comforting manner, one hand ghosting over the back of her head before burying itself in her dark tresses. “Come on, let's go inside princess. I'm even willing to give you a piggy back ride,” he wiggled his eyebrows when her teary eyes snap up to his.

“You should be careful about that offer, your mom might hear you and decide Little Piggy Brock needs to make a reappearance again.” she sniffled a little, smile a little forced and wobbly but there. “Beside that would be a bit difficult with this dress.”

“If I remember correctly, you told me 'fuck that dress' not too long ago, and I still haven't quite figured out how that is supposed to work. I mean where do I even put my hands, my dick?”

“Oh my gosh, you perverted old man!”

He's pleased that despite her tears she lets out a sob like laugh. This time she grabbed his shoulders and crushed herself against his chest.

“Hold me, Brock. Please?” she whispered wetly against his neck and Brock….Brock. Is. Just. _Slain_.

“As you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Kiara! I just love working with you! [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> For all of you asking if the "As you wish." was a Princess Bride reference.  
>  **It is!** Kiara came up with it and I've never seen it in english so I didn't connect the dots. 🤣  
> 


	21. A taste of heavenly rush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _But I only needed one more touch_   
>  _Another taste of heavenly rush_   
>  _And I believe, I believe it so_   
>  _And I only needed one more touch_   
>  _Another taste of devouring rush_   
>  _And I believe, I believe it so_   
>  _\- Breath of Life, Florence and the Machine_

“Hades, love, wait! Please!”

“Leave! Persephone, just leave! I can't bear to look at you at the moment! Besides … it is high summer, you should be at your mother's. Be gone, wife!”

~~~

Darcy needed a few seconds to comprehend what was going on when Brock gently removed his hold on her, grinning from one ear to the other before he turned and crouched on the floor, one knee completely down for balance.

“Well ... hop on, wifey!”

The heated look, eyes a crimson blaze that seared her soul, was tossed over his shoulder. The paralysis that seemed to grip her at the odd sight of her husband kneeling before her in a modified crouch was a bit difficult to shake off. Blinking rapidly did not diminish the sight in front of her, and she only hesitated a moment more, gathering both courage and the long skirts of her dress, before pressing against his back. It was a good thing she couldn’t see the indulgent grin on his face as she cursed both skirt and the chill of his metal armor, arms and legs awkwardly akimbo as she tried to settle.

Finally, she figured out she could thread her arms under the harness straps keeping his main sword against his back, gripping the straps as her arms wrapped about his neck. Her thighs tightened about his waist, and she squealed in surprise, her hold tightening when he rose to his feet. His hands rose to come up and rest upon her thighs to anchor and steady her. The deep rumbling chuckle was hard to miss; it vibrated through his chest and armor, to her very core.

In just two strides he has them in front of the kitchen door again and bent down a little. “Do us the honor of opening the door, hmm?”

He snorted out another laugh at the shocked ‘meep!’ she released after reaching down and the door seemingly opening of its own free will after a slight tingle of magic.

“What the …?”

“Mother adjusted her wards to allow access,” he shrugged, enjoying the bite of the straps and the solid weight against his back armor. “Hey, now, if anyone asks I can tell them you rode me, yes?”

“Pervert!” she gasped half outraged and the other half amused. “I can't believe you! The nerve!”

She gave his ear a flick, delighted at his twitch, gasping a giggle as his hand slid up her calf to brush teasingly against the back of her knees. Since when were the back of her knees so sensitive?

“S' true though,” he shrugged again.

Darcy didn't reply, instead chose to rest her head on his shoulder between his blades.

“You're an idiot,” she mumbled tiredly, almost lulled to sleep by the steady up and down of his steps as he carried her further into the home. She didn’t even notice when the kitchen door slid shut on its own.

“Humph, your idiot though. So I'm not really to blame, this marriage thingy goes both ways you know. Half is my idiocy and half is yours, so I dare say we balance each other out.”

That teasing asshole was trying to make her laugh! Gaia, he knew how to distract her from the total emotional wrecking of what had happened on Olympus.

“I don't hear you protesting sweetheart?”

She yawned into his shoulder while he carried her through the hallway. With another tired yawn she needled him a little. “I'm too tired to argue with an asshole and an idiot.”

“Don’t call yourself an asshole, dear. It’s not nice.”

“Excuse you?” She dug her fingers into the armor beneath, not that he could feel it.

“I’m the idiot, remember?”

Without even seeing his face she knew that he smirked, _smug bastard_. Her smug bastard though; one who intentionally acted like a fool to get her to laugh and forget. Even if just for a moment.

They briefly passed by the living room, the door was opened wide and Odysseus was snoring loudly, sounding as if a great shuddering bellowed. For whatever reason, the enormous boar seemed to have been granted a sleeping place on a large blanket instead of his own pen off the kitchen. A tiny dark spot lay on top of him; hooves sprawled on either side of the slumbering boar's back, kicking softly with little snorting squeals of whatever dream Morpheus was bequeathing it.

A teacup piggy?

The sounds the two were making was an odd orchestra. But before her brain could fully comprehend what she had just witnessed Brock had already carried her past the doorway and towards the stairs. Their short, impromptu piggy back ride was almost over as he approached their bedroom. Darcy couldn't find it in herself to be nervous, oh no, her heart wasn't suddenly beating wildly once more.

She hadn't, like, totally _forgotten_ about the possibility that they would share a bed or anything. Except, like, she _totally_ had.

Before she knew it he crouched down in the middle of the bedroom and she untangled herself of his straps and armor, sliding off his back. Fighting down a blush that threatened to spread across her cheeks she hurried to grab the nightgown Circe had magicked up where she had left it this morning. She only meant to glance at him briefly before locking herself in the bathroom to change, but somehow her gaze was caught by the way he slowly unwound his bracers from his wrists and biceps.

When it looked like he might be shifting to look her way, she finished dashing into the bathroom, heart racing as if having run a marathon.

She was _so_ fucked.

~~~

Hoping to have calmed herself and her libido down, Darcy had slipped out of the bathroom after a satisfying moment of throwing the hated dress in the trash and immediately froze when she saw him.

He was still busy with putting away his gear, twisting and contorting, far more flexible than she had ever envisioned. It was doing marvelous things for his muscles; flexing and rippling, bulging and then arching.

Brock for his part was trying to ignore the steady heat along his side as he knew his wife was staring.

Getting in and out of armor alone wasn't an easy task, okay?

Reaching those clasps was a challenge; there was a good reason the warriors of old had servants or squires or other such attendants to help them do just that. Even each other if none of the above were available. He gave a grunt as he finally let the last strap fall, sighing with relief.

 _Gaia!_ What would it be like if – or when? – Darcy decided to help relieve him of his armor. He willed his blood to higher parts of his body at that delicious thought.

The soft thumping of her bare feet across the floor and the sound of shuffling sheets as she slipped into bed almost had him turn but he forced himself to finish his task. He had already dressed into a broken in pair of wide sleeping pants. His leather trousers had been the easiest, and therefore the first, item of his gear to go while Darcy had retreated to the bathroom. He grabbed the first black tee shirt he could find and for a moment he wondered if he should have 'forgotten' the shirt. Shaking his head as he finished pulling the soft material over his head, he put the _xiphos_ away with the rest of the weaponry before turning to leave.

“Brock,” his name fell off her plush lips like a sinful promise and he paused in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame he turned to look at her. He had to tighten his hold on the threshold to stop him from doing something he would regret later; like joining her in bed. And what a fucking picture she looked; all his fantasies come to life and his nightmare of not being able to touch all in one contradictory reality.

Darcy in his bed, sitting upright with one pale, smooth leg canted up while the other curled underneath, once again clutching a pillow to her chest and lap. She probably wasn’t aware that the move exposed her flank leaving a tantalizing view of all that lovely flesh.

Her cheeks were flushed an endearing hue that started somewhere in the high points of her cheeks, and extended downward; past her neck to tease against that lovely decolletage. Her cerulean gaze met his own, which was burning red no doubt with arousal he could not and would not hide. He never had and despite their shitty circumstance, he made up his mind he never would.

Whatever she had been about to say seemed to have died on her lips, which she once again bit, when the intensity of his gaze registered in her brain, face flushed she lowered her eyes.

“Darcy,” he can't help the throaty roughness playing havoc in his voice. Gaia, if she knew what she did to him. Sitting in his bed with a nightgown so thin she might as well have been wearing nothing. The pillow-shield clutched to her ample front as if it could protect her from the world and its cruelty, from him and his desire.

The urge to protect her, to wrap her in his arms and have her sleep that way, if only to assure himself that she was safe, was strong and demanding, but he wouldn't do that to her. He could tame his instincts, control the urge to rip that damned pillow from her arms and replace it with himself. To put into submission the utmost needy desire to cover her small feminine curves with his own larger frame, to have her pressed up against him.To put his mouth to her neck, his tongue to all skin on display, until every inch of her was consumed in some way by him.

He had to suppress a groan at the images his head painted.

“I don't want to be alone,” she is bright red at her admission, the blush darkening and spreading from her face down her throat and neck in a seductive wave. “Could you…would you hold me again? Please?”

She swallowed harshly, and her lashes brushed her skin as she looked up at him in askance.

His breath is caught in his throat for a moment. There was nothing more he would rather do but he forced himself to remain still, hovering in the doorway he had not opened yet. She clearly had no idea what she was asking of him. _Gaia_ , to spend the night, however brief it may be, with her in his arms would test his self control in ways he didn’t think he could continue.

Despite his best efforts he couldn't keep in the pleased rumbling that escaped his throat at her request. He had to bite down the urge to reply with 'As you wish' once more, least she'd catch on.

“Are you sure, Darcy?” he verified instead, needing her to be honest and clear.

The time it took between her final nod after searching his eyes seemed to last a lifetime. He found himself spanning the distance from the door to the bed in seconds the moment before she completed the first bob of her head.

“Be certain, sweetheart,” he gritted out, the hand adorned with the ring tying their fates together reaching out, grasping her chin between his thumb and forefinger. This was serious. “I don’t want you to get mad at me later, yeah?”

“Yes,” she barely breathed the word as his head lowers, only their foreheads touching and feeling somehow more intimate than the kiss she had low-key expecting. For a moment they just existed like that, two points of contact and yet somehow the only thing that felt real.

“Just cuddling.” she reminded softly, reluctantly pulling away from his caress, eyes on him the whole time as she laid herself down in the middle of the bed with her face still flushed. She turned her back to him, took the pillow with her, and pulled her braided hair over her shoulder while she waited for him to join her in bed.

He could do this.

Brock stared at the soft knobs of his wife’s spine before moving slowly, allowing her enough time to register every one of his moves and to object should she wish to. There was no way, no way he would allow himself to fuck this up and scare her away. This was another chance to win her trust back.

Arranging his own pillow he shifted until he lay pressed up behind her, not yet touching her but close enough that he could feel her body heat. Brock was careful to keep his hips back a touch. He also had to blink a few times before it registered in his brain just why he was able to make her out so easily in the darkness of the room.

Her divine inner glow lit up her skin, diminished as it was. The soft golden light made him crave to touch her even more. _Gaia_ did he want to cover that glow, shield her from view by practically burying her underneath him.

A taste of heavenly rush, indeed.

Darcy seemed to be holding her breath when he gingerly moved his arm over her waist, laying it to rest on the pillow she still clutched to her front, careful not to touch anything else. “Is this good sweetheart?” he inquired softly, his own body still inches away from hers. “Do you want me to move my hand underneath your head?”

As his breath stroked across the back of her neck, goosebumps raised in a shiver which ran down her back from the gentle way he treated her. Not trusting her voice she once again nodded lifting her head and balancing on her shoulder so he could slip his arm underneath it. With a tired but contend sigh she rested her head onto the warm and muscular appendage, breathing in his scent.

“Oh,” she breathed, relishing the immediate heat and the sight of his own goosebumps. Evidence she wasn’t the only one affected.

“Are you cold?” he inquired softly and she nodded in affirmation, wriggling to press against his warm form while he pulled the covers over them. She could use the excuse of feeling cold to feel him press against her back, she needed that at the moment. And if she wiggled a bit more at a certain bit of his anatomy, well, who could blame her? It was just _right there._

Darcy felt raw, raw and exposed. The feeling of Brock covering her back gave her a sense of security, something to hold onto, like a life buoy that kept her afloat from the darkness that threatened to swallow her. Visiting Olympus had been a horrible experience, one that she had hoped to never repeat again.

Her father, oh my goodness!

Hades would kill Brock after the show he had put on.

And as if facing Zeus and Hera hadn't been horrible enough Apollo had felt the need to follow them.

Gods! That cretin.

The reminder of Brock's mortality, despite being a demi-god as being compared to full born deity had been like a dagger in her gut.

 _Why? She wasn't even sure._ _She didn't love him, right? She knew she cared for him, at least a little bit. Enough to have wanted that date they finally went on before all this went to Hel._

Shouldn't everything else have fazed her more than the fact that Brock would die long before her? Or would he? Her own divinity had been stripped as well, or at least, most of it. She was more of a demi-goddess herself now. Having grown up mortal for a second time. Gulping down another sob she tried to relax in his hold. She needed this, she couldn't be alone tonight.

And of course Brock just had to analyze the Sun Twit’s words, he just had to find out that she had practically been a child most of her life. Twice she had lived through childhood. Darcy had spent more time as a child than as a grown up, more time a mortal than as a goddess.

And the lightning!

How could Zeus have been so stupid? So careless?

Gaia! If Zeus found out, if anyone found out what she knew …

“Whatever you're thinking love, stop, go to sleep. I'll keep watch. I'll keep you safe.” his deep voice rumbled behind her, his breath hot against her ear, his chest vibrating against her back. The arm that had previously rested on the pillow in front of her slowly moved between it to lie over her waist, the palm of his hand coming to rest on her stomach, warm and reassuring.

_Love._

Her heart beat faster and her body trembled.

Why did he have to be so perfect?

~~~

A flash of light on a dark blade and blood splattered everywhere, an unknown face contorted in pain and horror before becoming still, eyes unseeing. A now lifeless body slumped against the rune covered floor with a careless thump. Blood still gushing out of the sacrifice, joining other, older stains on the once pristine white stone floor.

The god whom was summoned announced its presence in a burst of flaming light.

Ares' imposing form stood towering in the temple, the structure having that dank, damp feel of age and earth, many feet below the surface.

“I see you switched from dogs to human sacrifices. So nice of you to grow a pair,” he clapped mockingly, his low chuckle seeming to fill every corner and crevice of the antechamber.

“Are you complaining, _Father_?” The demonic crimson visage of the Red Skull bared his teeth in a feral grin. The creature once known as Johann Schmidt waited until his godly sire flicked a wrist in acknowledgment before rising to his feet from his previous position kneeling above his sacrifice.

Ares didn't answer, instead only grinned back, teeth more like fangs. The violence of the bloodshed obviously pleasing him.

“I assume there is a reason you offer me such a lovely sacrifice?”

The metal adorning his boot seemed to absorb the light cast from the wooden torches, as he casually smeared the growing puddle of red ocher with one toe, seemingly tracing some of the runes themselves. Another wave of his hand, and some of the spilled life essence wafted upward in a macabre swarm, Ares brought the blob to his mouth and suckled at his fingers.

A purr of pleasure and eyes a deeper scarlet than his progenies mutated face snapped open to pin said progeny in place. Eyes the color of blood, almost black in places, and covering the entire sclera consumed and no visible iris would have frightened most people.

Red Skull bowed his head at the unspoken command, clasping his hands behind his back.

“There is talk … about my younger half-breed brother acquiring a lovely little wife of all things.” His voice full of curiosity and contained glee. If his spies were correct well… so many plans.

At Ares nod, however slight it might have been, a wicked smile crossed the demigod's features.

“Excellent. My new sister has the most…intriguing, of employers and fellow co-workers. Such an asset, such a _weakness_ is to be easily exploited.”

His schadenfreude is met with a bemused grin on Ares part that quickly turned into booming laughter. Although confused by his sire's amusement he is wise enough to stay silent and wait the disturbing scene out.

“You will stay your hand from your brother's wife, boy, if you know what is good for you.” Ares warned him with a growl much to Red Skull's surprise, but he's not fool enough to question Ares and so he remained silent.

“Darcy Lewis. She is more than a mere weakness or asset in your quest against certain co-workers of hers. Oh, don’t bother being surprised, Johann, I _am_ both your father and your god of choice. _The_ God of War to be exact as _some_ are forgetful _._ I know all about this little ongoing spat with your former lover Erskine’s prodigy. Steven Rogers, is that his name? Hmm, yes. Perhaps if you had focused more on actually waging war, instead of being distracted by a new shiny, the world would not be the way it is, _ja?_ And Hitler had so much potential,” Ares sighed, momentarily saddened at the loss of one of his most devoted acolytes in centuries. Each generation had their warmongers, but few ever achieved the level of destruction absolute that his German worshippers had aspired to at the beginning of the 1900s.

“I allowed him the knowledge; gave him so many hints on objects of power that could have helped him. At least Stalin and his little friends were a bit more …enduring in their Cold War. Ah, that _Soldat_ though … what a lovely mix of destruction he wrought. The screams of his prey… the screams of himself as his mind and memory was ripped from him over and over … _ack!_ Sheer poetry and the taste of their fear and rage … there should be tragedies and comedies written of his conquests, don’t you agree?”

“If you wish it,” Red Skull bowed his head stiffly. He was still a bit miffed that Arnim Zola of all people was able to hide the success of his experiments against the good Captain's most trusted lieutenant. He had been aware of the possibility, of course, but none had known of the success before it was too late. He was saddened he had not been able to take a more active role in this _Zimniy Soldat_ ’s molding. That the KGB had the most influence was an insult to the Hydra science of his creation.

“Don’t be petty, Johann,” Ares reached a hand out and slapped his progeny on the face, uncaring of the tacky smear of leftover blood now against that sharp cheekbone. “But, Darcy Lewis. Yes, do not interfere with Crossbones’ spouse. There are already things in motion in regards to her I do not want messed up. Besides, I don’t want to have Circe yapping in my ear, or Brock pouting. You know those two together would do something just for spite. We don’t have time for that nonsense. In the meantime, I have located more … unacknowledged demigods scattered across the globe. Some have yet to even come into their powers, much less know of their heritage. Such raw potential, yes?”

“My brothers and sisters are such sluts, even today. One would think after the last Age of Heroes they would keep it in their chitons, huh? My so-called King and Sire has gotten better at avoiding my mother’s ever so watchful eye. No matter, see if you can persuade them to your side. Dispose of them if you can't, or not, I don’t rightly care as long as the blood begins spilling either way. Although … I wouldn't mind some of Zeus’ get spilled on my altar, no matter how diluted it may be. Be sure to make that a target of opportunity, my boy.”

With those words the war god disappeared in the same dancing flames he had appeared in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You do evil so well ... should I be worried? [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> Thank you so much!


	22. Lightning

For the first time in years Brock found that he didn't wake up bright and early with the dawn. Probably because he had gone to sleep but two hours earlier. Instead, he awoke to the feel of soft curves that shifted and pressed against him.

More than just his mind stirred awake, and instinct had him rutting into the inviting warmth in front of him before his actual brain caught on and he froze. Opening his eyes, his gaze moved downward to take in the woman who was fast asleep snuggled against him. A soft mewl like sound escaped his wife's sweet lips before her movements ceased and her breathing ebbed out once more.

This is what he had always wanted.

Even in the years when he had more than one partner, sometimes just for a night, he had always looked forward to the day when his job or familial obligations would allow himself time to settle down. Preferably, he wanted someone who would support his very nature’s need for war, and either be waiting for him or fighting at his side against a common foe. A partner; an equal. For a few carefree moments he enjoyed their close proximity, holding back the urge to run his fingers over her form, before he glanced around the room out of habit.

It’s not paranoia when they are truly out to get you.

Bright sunlight filtered in through the windows and his gaze instantly fell upon a small basket with fresh bandages and some kind of tonic or lotion his mother had no doubt set out for Darcy's injured hand.

He bared his teeth and cursed silently, how could he have missed his mother entering the room? When did she enter the room? He only dropped off a couple hours before, and not very heavily either.

Also…how could he have forgotten to check on Darcy’s injured palm last night? Surely, after the hours on Olympus they should have been checked on or at least rewrapped.

Carefully, he tried to untangle himself from his wife, only to be surprised when Darcy moved, lazily scooting backward after him the moment he began to pull back.

“Hmm Brock, it's too damn early and I'm cold, don't leave.” Her voice was sleep husky and slightly slurred. It did absolutely nothing to deter his body from standing to attention while alternatively his heart melted.

He chuckled softly against her back, unable to keep from pressing warm, open mouthed kisses to the middle of her shoulder blades and up her neck, any of that soft skin he could get really. The only spot he avoided were the golden lines on her back, where her wings had once been, he didn't dare to kiss or touch her there, lest he'd ruined the moment.

“It is summer and we're in Italy or Greece, somewhere warm and Mediterranean I'm not really sure to be honest. Plus, you feel pretty warm, how can you be cold?”

But despite his words, he pulled her closer again, still placing little kisses that made her giggle and wiggle, moving from her neck to the underside of her jaw. She was warm, so he didn't quite understand how she could be cold but he didn't really care for her reasoning. If his wife wanted to cuddle a little bit more, who was he to disagree?

He had just nibbled and licked her ear when small ice cold feet pressed against his calves.

_Dear fricking Gaia did she keep those feet in the Underworld River Styx!?_

“Woman! Are you a fricking Frost Giant?” he cursed plentifully. Well, now he knew why she was cold.

She had the gall to giggle softly, almost no sound escaped her but she shook from her silent laughter and he had to bite back a groan.

“Not that I know off, but half of your warmth belongs to me _husband_ , so stay put and keep me warm.”

Demanding little thing.

“Ah, but the other half really needs to take care of some business.” Brock grinned against her back, reaching the hand still by her belly and he pressed her back.

A soft gasp escaped her lips which he followed with an affirming hum. Brock pressed a final, tender kiss onto her supple neck before he reluctantly removed his hold on her and slipped out of the bed. He was glad he was facing away from her so he could try and will his body to calm down.

Grabbing another blanket from the foot of the bed and threw it over her as a whole, she made cute protesting sounds and wriggled underneath it until small dainty hands pulled the extra cover away far enough for her to peek out from below it. The frizzy strands of curly hair that had escaped the now very messy braid haloed her head and he couldn’t help the sudden bark of laughter at the sight.

“Meanie,” she pouted plush lips at him before snuggling back into the blankets.

But all he could see was the bruise around the small of her wrist, dark, ugly and shaped like his fingers, a stark contrast again the otherwise pale flesh. His laughter cut off abruptly. It looked so much worse than it had been those few hours earlier. He hadn't meant to grab her that hard. There was no way she hadn't noticed it, that had to hurt, he even saw her wince softly when she moved the wrist, and yet she said nothing. He swallows hard.

“I'll be right back sweetheart. I promise.”

There is a soft giggle from the pile of blankets and pillows she had buried herself into; her voice filtered to him with fake accusation, challenging a response, teasing him.

“You're sneaking off to see the dress, aren't you? Confess now!”

“Darcy! Gaia! You'll never let me live that down will you?” he groaned and turned to the bathroom running one hand through his hair in exasperation.

“Never!” she singsonged.

~~~

Although difficult to find, occasionally it happened that some poor mortal found their way onto his mother's island. The wards made sure that anyone who was in real danger of drowning would find the safety of land and she had some other, special clarifications when someone could pass through.

So it happened once in a while, that someone found their way to Ææa.

Depending on how annoying those hapless stranded souls were determined whether his mother turned them into _something,_ if they survived the wolves, lions, boars or the one or two dragons roaming the island.

So the sight of a tiny black pig; _a teacup pig_ , Darcy had called it; sitting in a high chair at the breakfast table and munching on a plate of food didn't really surprise him. Made him smile though as he went about pouring a cup of coffee from the carafe already steaming. He went back to lean against the kitchen entryway, a favorite haunt that also ticked his mother off. He gave his mother an innocent look before eyeing the newest guest eating with gusto, considering.

Oh that promised fun.

“Really mother? Isn't that thing a little too small for bacon? It's hardly worth the effort but I guess it's still better than nothing. Should I start the smoker or were you thinking more like suckling-pig? Or are we waiting until you fattened it up a bit more, hmm?”

The outrageous squealing that followed his all but innocent question made him grin ferally at the little piggy who suddenly struggled to get out of the high chair, tiny feet flailing wildly accompanied by loud squeaks.

Odysseus gave a snort at the youngster, all but rolling his eyes as he continued to eat his own meal on the ground, little corkscrew tail whirling madly. His mother giggled silently, a hand clasped over her mouth and a mirthful look glittering in her sea blue eyes.

“Oh Brock, you're so mean,” his wife's voice sounded from behind him.

A small hand settled onto his arm and before she even pushed he moved out of the way to grant her passage. She squeezed through the doorway beside him, sticking her tongue out at him and winking in a playful manner as she stole his coffee cup before sauntering into the kitchen.

“Look at him,” she said in a cooing voice, meant for tiny children or pets, while approaching the highchair and picking the pig up, cuddling it against her chest. She took the opportunity to drain the heavenly caffeine infused drink dry just to spite him.

Said piggy stopped struggling and snuggled into her bosom, before giving him a stinky eye and sticking his own tongue out, that little pervert!

And his mother had the gall to laugh, sharing some kind of look with Darcy, a look he couldn't quite interpret. When did those two create their own language? Shit, he was in trouble.

Yep, clearly Darcy had become his mother's favorite.

“Isn't he just the cutest?” Darcy continued carrying the piggy further into the kitchen. By now the tiny thing was resting on her shoulder giving him a glare while Darcy set the coffee cup down and all but innocently searched through the cabinets and pulled out an oval oven dish which the pig missed in its efforts to kill Brock with his gaze alone.

Oh!

Brock smirk widened and he settled against the doorjamb to watch.

“He's clearly more of the roast pork type.” she declared while putting the squealing in outrage thing into the dish. “See, fits perfectly. Add some carrots and potatoes and we have a nice little dinner.”

Protesting and insulting grunts and oinks erupted from the small being as the other three laughed, and Darcy added more insult to injury, as she gave the top of his little tufted head a series of small pats.

“There, there,” she cooed.

A flash of green magic engulfed the tiny thing and Brock found himself reaching for his sword, which _wasn't there._

Damn it.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he had forgotten it. All because of his minx of a wife, who had been so unwilling to be roused from slumber. A blessing on one hand, because he had enjoyed the way she had pressed up against him and their ensuing banter. A curse on the other, because being so enthralled by his wife he now stood weaponless while the Norse God of Mischief sat on top of a roasting pot on his mother's kitchen counter.

Grinning like a fucking moron.

“Hello, love,” the far too familiar and purr like greeting directed at his wife rubbed Brock in all the wrong places.

The fuck?!

The Asgardian's grin faded into a frown though and he took a hold of Darcy's hand, clicking his tongue in disapproval. The bandage fell away like dust under a soft sheen of green magic and long elegant fingers pried her palm open. A grimace appeared on the mischievous god's face.

“Hmm,” his disapproval was made apparent.

“Don't you dare 'hello, love' me, Loki!” Darcy snapped at him but didn't try to move out of the tricksters grasp.

Brock had started towards them the moment the Asgardian sorcerer had returned to his humanoid form but found himself halted when ice crept up his feet and literally froze him in place. Loki wiggled a finger at him mischievously.

“I'm not going to harm her, son of Circe.”

With those words the ice receded and the Jotun-born sorcerer gave a short acknowledging nod towards his mother before turning his attention back upon Darcy.

“I presume your injuries are not from this one?” Loki jerked a finger in Brock's direction. “Because otherwise, I would be forced to take you with me.”

“Not going to harm me my ass! What were you thinking! Helping my mother with her insane plan and almost feeding me to a Hydra? Oh?” Darcy screeched at him, completely ignoring his question but ending with a dumbfounded sound of surprise when his green magic washed over her hand, healing the burn wound almost instantly.

It must have taken another god to heal the damage obtained when one had another god’s divine life-force in their grasp.

Loki, for his part, had the decency to look ashamed and turned his attention to her other arm. The same spell moved across her skin and removed any traces of the bruises previously there. Swinging leather clad feet off the counter Loki let go of her hands as he shifted to remove the pan from under his divine posterior.

“You were never in any kind of danger.” he drawled, tossing to pan to land gently in the sink. “Your mother may be enthusiastic in her mischief but she loves you dearly. The Hydra was me, by the way; I would not have harmed you. Maybe nibbled a bit and probably licked your lovely face if that one there hadn't hurried up his rescue attempt.”

Ah, the idiot head was Loki, Darcy thought. Figures.

“YOU? You were the Hydra? I fucking strangled you!” Brock snarled at the sorcerer, still trying to process all the information and the fact that the Nordic God of Mischief stood in his mother's kitchen.

He remembered New Mexico and New York; he had friends who hadn’t made it out of the base studying the Tesseract before it imploded. Even more colleagues who died during the Helicarrier incident; not to mention all the innocents in Berlin due to Loki’s temper tantrum.

His mother, who looked on bemused, not saying a word.

His mother, who apparently had managed to turn a god into a fucking TEACUP PIG. Like the badass she was.

Who was even now sipping daintily at her drink – had she been up long enough that she had switched from coffee to tea yet? – and whom seemed content to watch events unfold.

“Well not really, you got close though.”

The wicked smile on the male deity's face had Brock snarl at him and he itched to strangle the lanky trickster for real this time.

Loki cocked his head to one side and glanced thoughtfully over him.

“You did put up a good fight though and I fully approve of you being her alibi. I don't approve of you as her husband though. One day of matrimony and she has burns and bruises … I advise you not to make an enemy out of me, because meeting her furious father in the afterlife will be the least of your problems if that were the case.”

Was Thor’s adopted brother really giving him a shovel talk?

“Neither he nor I need your damned approval Loki!” Darcy snarled at the Jotun, her eyes blazing an eerie cyan blue much too like Hades’ for either male’s ease of mind. “You are my friend.” she sniffled, grabbing her own arms.

“How could you have handed me over to him, to _anyone_ , like a piece of cake?” Darcy questioned rather softly before becoming louder once more. “A little snack to enjoy?!”

Darcy pressed her eyes close so she didn’t see the pained look on the older god’s face at her words.

“I trusted you Loki, despite what everyone else said about you, I always trusted you not to harm me. Physically or otherwise…but _you did._ ”

Loki for his part looked stricken, moving a hand to sleek back hair he sighed.

“I never meant for you to get harmed in any way … things got out of hand, we didn't know he had a Favor to call upon much less that he would use it like _that_.” he sounded sincere, but who really knew?

Brock kept his arms crossed so he wouldn’t be further tempted to wring a certain trickster’s neck, keeping an eye on his saddened wife but knowing better than to approach her so near her so called friend.

“Your mother said your father would be busy, but apparently she was mistaken. Perhaps we both underestimated how he would react to finding out about your disappearance so soon after an attack on that Tower you lived in with my brother's _friends._ When I arrived back at the platform you were already gone. I don't know why she didn't interfere, she said it was rather _heated_.” he still stood but a few inches in front of the kitchen counter. “It wasn’t until then that I found out she hadn’t told your father any details about _how_ she was going to pull it off. It must have taken Hades by surprise. You know how he gets when his flowers are threatened.”

Loki for all that he was dangerous hadn't moved towards Darcy again, or made any indication of meaning harm but now he reached into seemingly nothing and pulled out a crystal.

A dazzling beautiful gem about the size of his fist. It appeared more translucent, but cracked with the white and blue of lightning seemingly trapped within.

Darcy's lightning?

The little fucker had stolen her lightning!?

“At least I can offer you back your lightning as an apology.” Loki held it out for her to take elegantly. “Zeus is not going to accuse you twice.”

Darcy though, she looked furious, almost purple with rage but despite everything her voice was cold, cold and sharp and utterly striking.

“ _That_ is not _my_ lightning!” she hissed as she moved backwards _away_ from the offering.

“What?!?” Three different voices echoed the same question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay) You are the best!  
> I can't tell you guys how much of this AWESOMENESS is due to her!
> 
> [Ibelieveinturtles ](https://ibelieveinturtles.tumblr.com/post/614001089778515968/so-i-was-catching-up-on-i-see-dead-people-by) made this lovely thing:  
> 


	23. Mistakes and Calls

“You managed to steal Zeus' lightning, you _idiot! Fool!_ ”

Darcy had snarled and crossed her arms while glaring at the God of Mischief. She was still in her nightgown but had chosen to toss a slightly more opaque dressing gown over top, loosely belted. If Brock's gaze lingered on the edges of pale globes revealed by the vee created by the robe and gown for a moment, well who could blame him? They were just there and pushed upwards so enticingly, perfectly framed by robe and arms alike.

At least the Asgardian didn't spare them a second glance.

 _Curious_.

It was the first time Brock had ever seen the Asgardian Prince falter; not even when faced with the Hulk had the sorcerer ever seemed so flabbergasted. At least, not during that first meeting. Brock had seen the security feed of the 'fight' if you could have called it that; he briefly wondered if Hulk would be willing to grab his father and play 'puny god' with him.

“Oh,” the soft sound of surprise escaped Loki's lips at the same time as a grimace crossed his features. “That is most unfortunate.”

“Very,” Circe drolly commented, rolling her eyes. _Gaia, bless her heart._

Darcy gave an unladylike snort at that, foot tapping an irritated rhythm. Unfortunate, yes, that was _such_ a good description for having stolen Zeus’ Lightning from _his own personal vault!_

It took Brock a moment, he blinked once, tongue darting out his to wet his lips.

“So… Zeus was using _your_ lightning yesterday? That's the reason you were more surprised than frightened.”

It made the perfect kind of sense; though someone else could wield her lighting because _it was_ a part of her, no true damage could be done to her, even as stripped of divinity as she was. She truly had no need to fear the impressive display of might last night.

“Yes,” Darcy agreed with a nod and then once again glared at Loki for emphasis before seemingly to deflate.

“Loki,” she sighed in exasperation while stubbornly looking at the breakfast table. “I honestly don't care anymore. I need a damned break. I will sit down, and eat breakfast, and I don't fucking care what you do with Zeus' lightning. Really. I DON'T.”

She returned to pin blazing cyan eyes upon the Jotun born prince. “You and Mom can figure this whole mess out on your own. It _is_ your all’s mess to clean anyway. I am just the unfortunate piece of collateral damage.”

With those final words she strolled past him and snatched the coffee cup she had previously drained, uncaring some of the remaining liquid flicked out and hit him before sitting down at the breakfast table. She took the carafe and refilled her cup, keeping her concentration solely on the task before her.

“Thank you for the lovely breakfast Circe,” she nodded her thanks before taking a sip of the dark heavenly brew. A content sigh escaped her and she relaxed a little more into her chair before she added sugar and milk to her coffee, stirring lazily while she took one of the fresh rolls.

“You’re welcome, Sweetness.”

“Mom!” Brock growled, knowing his mother altered his own pet name for Darcy.

“Whatever, Brock, dear,” and she waved a dismissive hand his way and Loki gave a little giggle.

“Delicious,” Darcy took a deliberately huge bite of her roll.

Brock shot one last glare at the Asgardian prince before he, too, sat down, choosing the chair next to Darcy. It was with pride he felt when she initiated the touching; pressing her leg against his, and not seeming to mind when he hooked his ankle around hers. He wished he had thought to put some shorter pants on so he could feel the warm slide of her skin against his own. As it was, the silky length of her robe and gown tickled the tops of his bare feet.

He took the carafe and poured himself another cup of coffee, dark and untainted. The steam swirled up in lazy tendrils and the dark strength of the brew scented the air. He waited until his wife was distracted by the selection of different homemade jams his mother had made and then sneakily replaced her cup of coffee with his with not even a scuffing sound against the table.

“Sit down, Loki,” Circe gestured to the table, her voice and dancer’s movements providing the perfect cover. Both Darcy and Brock stared in surprise as not only Loki followed instruction, but did so swiftly. Well, as swiftly as one could saunter, but there was haste in his stride that was noticeable.

Brock arched an inquiring brow Darcy’s way and she shook her head, one shoulder popping slightly in bewildered answer. She had no idea what that was about either.

Loki, who had sat down on the opposite of the table, took the plate from which he had been munching when he still was a little piggy after pushing away the high chair he previously used with a sneer of distaste. Their gaze meet briefly and he could swear the trickster's mouth quirked in amusement but it was gone within a blink of an eye.

 _Just wait, fucker,_ Brock’s eyes challenged back and then smoothed away any sign of shenanigans.

Darcy took a healthy gulp of her coffee. It was the work of a moment where her face puckered at the unexpected taste but was too stubborn to spit out, she turned to glare at Loki who pointed at Brock with the butter knife.

“Yeah, _right_!” Darcy huffed, drawing out the last word as she switched cups with Brock who had ‘helpfully’ passed her the doctored cup with all the husbandly concern and bewilderment he could manage, going so far as to give his own dirty glare at the Prince.

It was a good thing she was too busy swapping out cups and glaring at her friend to pay attention to the shit eating grin of triumph her husband gave to the other man. Were he about the Spider-kid’s age, he’d stick his tongue out for good measure.

Circe snorted into her cup of tea, twirling the long length of her hair and batting her lashes in faux innocence when Darcy looked to her mother in law in concern. It looked remarkably like the one Brock sported just now.

“Another roll my dear?” she simpered after she daintily patted her lips with a cloth napkin and Darcy took the proffered treat with another suspicious glare at her frosty friend.

“Yes, please, Circe. Thank you.” She leaned into Brock’s side without thinking about it, momentarily lost in the joy of eating. Brock just preened and took a long, slow sip of the pure, bitter brew and winked at the rueful Nordic godling.

By this point Odysseus had finished with his own breakfast and having pegged her early on as susceptible to his charms decided to come and beg Darcy for a snack. The boar's snout kept pushing at the side of her arm with pitiful and pleading grunts, utterly unashamed of his begging. Looking down, Darcy’s expression eased as she gazed into those pitiful beggar eyes liquid enough to challenge a golden retriever – or Steve Rogers at his trollingist.

“Aww. Maybe later, big guy.”

The most pathetic squealing moan known to man was issued out of that fat boar’s mouth, and Brock again rolled his eyes. Pathetic, man.

If her elbow accidentally nudged a piece of fruit over the side of the table, no one commented.

~~~

“Avengers Tower this is your glorious, genius, beneficial, good looking, very handsome overlord Tony fucking Stark speaking; have I mentioned that I'm also Ironman? Tell me how you got this number and I'll only fry you lightly, like a little meme fish filet.”

“Very funny, Mister Stark.”

That wasn’t the Kid speaking. The dry and wry voice of his security Rambo almost had him dropping the phone in relief. He, like, totally _hadn't_ started a full blow panic the previous day thinking that he might have accidentally killed his own personal pet berserk by sending him into the actual fucking UNDERWORLD. There had been no sign of life, no contact attempt, and both he and Darcy had been gone for almost three whole days.

Three days of Shakespeare in the Park pouting, his Lady Star Wars Actress Look Alike pining and threatening him like a rabid squirrel. Darcy was truly needed if only to make Foster look like a functioning member of the human race and not an extra from the Walking Dead.

He _had_ been the one to egg Rumlow on, as well as failing to tell him that it had been Hades who had taken Darcy. All because it had been so fucking hilarious watching the usually so calm and professional man loose his shit.

The preacher and a devoted follower of body fat ratio was a sucker for short-stacks curvy curves double-D Lewis. He and Romanov had an ongoing bet about if and when Darcy would give in to Rumlow's failing flirt attempts. It hadn’t taken the Tower’s main residents that long to figure out Armed & Deadly’s interest in their favorite Girl Friday That Was a Real Girl. Subtle was not in Commander Brock Rumlow’s vocabulary when it came to wooing a certain Lab Manager it seemed. How that man was a triple agent for Fury he didn’t know.

That (spectacular!) elevator makeout session was playing far too much into the Widow's side of the bet. Damn it.

Thankfully the other Security Freak had interrupted them. Though it had been a close call; he honestly thought Short Stack would start making out with the Surprise! I Am Actually Australian! Agent as well. He wondered if Brock would have allowed that to happen or if yet another bromance would fall victim to a pair of Double D’s.

Tony had been so sure that the demigod would run as soon as he figured out that Darcy was Hades’ daughter. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he almost did as well; Hades was not subtle either when he met Tony upon learning his daughter was to live there permanently. It was fortunate that Granddaddy Hephaestus was on good terms with the Lord of the Underworld; unlike the terms he had with Rambo’s Daddy. Not that he had shared that particular information with Natasha.

He had immensely enjoyed bringing Jane and Darcy aboard, finally someone who could understand! Not that he didn’t appreciate Bruce, his Science!Bro. But Bruce only knew so much about so many things, and Janey-Poo knew so much about other things! And Darcy well… she was the daughter of one of the better known infamous God of Ye Old couples. She had her momma’s good looks, her daddy’s power…and a temper!

Pepper had been so angry and (hurt!) and suspicious (how adorable was that? Jealousy for him, Tony from his Pep) at first when he and the two women had ended up bat shit drunk in his own penthouse suite (no, Pep, I wasn’t regressing to my man-whore days!) but then laughed outright at them. Between Jarvis’ hasty reassurances and the fact that they had somehow drunkenly scribbled equations to decorate all the windows and kitchen counters completely, and were babbling science (he and Jane were … Darcy just made noises and interjected non-science-y words and phrases randomly) when she found them.

Oh god! Thanks the fucking gods and his grandfather that Pepper hadn't been able to see the spirits Darcy had summoned with power way too much like Hades for his tastes (would Darcy take over the Underworld? Could she? Would Hades let her? What would Hades even do if that happened? You know what, never mind that thought, bad thought! Bad). He and Newton had such an interesting conversation and the spirit had emptied one of his finest bottles of whiskey too.

How had that worked? He had no clue!

Even Darcy's occasional visiting father was fun, creepy as fuck but fun. Who knew that Hades, Lord of the Dead, had a sense of humor outside of that one Disney movie? Besides, Darcy Doll simply knew how to throw THE BEST Halloween parties EVER! And if one or two of the guests were real mythological creatures, well who the fuck cared!

There was simply no way one couldn't like Darcy. She had sent Nick Fury (who wasn't dead and of course Darcy knew that) a personalized coffee mug which read 'Super Jack-Booted-Thug-Mode Loading…' and when the mug got warm it read ' **S** uper **H** yper **I** diotic and **E** normously **L** umpish **D** ummies'.

His thoughts came back to the very important fact that he didn't in fact, kill his security Rambo! Thanks are to the gods!

“Fucking Frigga! Dagur! So good to hear from you, how's the Underworld been treating you? Feeling a little under yet?” Tony questioned casually, trying to play it cool, and briefly regretted the fact that there was no phone cable he could twirl around his finger.

Would a special payment go over well with Rambo? Hazard pay? Who knew? No, wait, bad idea! Maybe nothing was wrong at all and they had just had a meet and greet with the in-laws.

He had somehow miscalculated that Thor was in hearing range though. Thunder cracked loudly in a cloudless blue sky and Tony flinched a little, backing away.

“Thor… buddy… put down that hammer! Please! I swear it was a joke! Look, it's Rumlow and I'm sure he has news about Darcy, right? Please tell me you are with her!?”

Thor gave him an impressive glare but Mjölnir went back down onto the coffee table and the Asgardian God waited patiently for news of his Lightning Sister. He absolutely did not twirl the leather cord of the hammer in a maniacal way, nope!

“Jarvis, put the call on speaker.”

“Of course, sir.”

There is a pause on the other end of the line and he could swear he heard a low chuckle followed by Darcy's voice shouting somewhere in the background.

“Say hello to everyone from me and ask if Jane has blown up anything! Because I don't want to deal with that on top of everything else.”

“You're still there, Stark?” came the clearly amused voice of Rambo, who had somewhere lost all business professional and forwent the mister.

“Yep, just a little Thunder-struck.” Tony replied grinning wildly he didn't even know where to begin to explain how relieved he was hearing both of their voices. “Say hello to Darcy too and tell her only two explosions in three days. One of them in my lab, so she doesn't need to worry!”

“Uh-huh, will do Mr. Stark.” Ah, the professional Jack-Booted Thug was back. “We'll be back in two days. We're a little stuck here at the moment.”

“Stuck?” Thor boomed and Tony winced.

“ _Is that Thor? Hey, Thor!”_ tiny Darcy voice peeped out from the background and immediately Thor relaxed at hearing her voice.

“Oh? Why are you stuck in the Underworld? Daddy dearest did not accidentally kill you and the both of you have to go on an epic adventure do you?” Tony was honestly dumbstruck. What did he mean by stuck?

“He wishes,” came the mumbled snort. “Ow! Darcy! Hey!”

“ _Don’t be a jerk,”_ Darcy’s voice sounded closer.

“Stop smacking me unless you actually follow through, Sweetheart.”

“What?” Tony squeaked at the ceiling, sharing a wide eyed look with Thor.

“Nothing,” came the far too hastily reply. “We're … Mom where the fuck are we exactly? Greece?” Rambo shouted.

_His mom???_

There was a pause and muffled voices in the background before Rumlow was able to speak again.

“Somewhere in the Pacific this time, she won't tell. And how can the Pacific feel like the Mediterranean? What? Yes, I know the answer is ‘magic’ obviously but come on! Yeah, Mom doesn't trust this phone 'thingy' to give more exact coordinates…or any coordinates at all. Anyway, two days then the potion will be ready.”

Tony blinked at the phone handset. “Potion?”

Thor tilted his head but didn’t seem surprised. Tony guessed he knew that the Big Lug had known about the Elder Gods. He had been there as they were going into obscurity, and he seemed way too knowledgeable not to know anything. He was also too protective of Darcy and since when did Asgardian Elitists adopt just regular ole’ Midgardians anyway?

“Yeah,” Rumlow answered slowly and Tony was sure he was narrowing his eyes. “Do you have more questions? Cause Darcy kind of wants to talk to Jane.”

“Jane! Is she on yet?”

“Not yet, Doll.”

Oh, Doll! Tony knew a couple of frozen World War II relics who would hate that their pet name for Darcy was being used by anyone not themselves.

“A thousand and more, but just one in particular. You're okay with this counting as overtime, yes?”

Tony idly wondered if there had been a bet on if and when the two Forties Farts would make their own play for the resident Bodacious Babe. Maybe they were waiting to get their own shit with each other figured out? Although, didn’t Widow and the Winter Not So Wonderful have A Thing way back when? He thought Birdbrain complained about his favorite Russian Doll having had a life before him.

“I'm working for a lunatic.” Rumlow muttered before replying louder. “Sure, beats boring paper work at SHIELD any time.” There is a shuffle and muffled voices. “Just a second wifey, he's getting Jane.”

Wifey???

“You are getting Jane, right, genius overlord?”

 _Did Rambo just make a joke?_ Tony stood shell shocked and turned wide eyes onto Thor.

“Point Break will get her, won’t you?” Tony wiggled his eyes meaningfully at the actual Nordic god.

The scent of ozone and the goosebumps raising all the hair on his body was all the answer he got as Thor’s electrical blue eyes seemed to spark actual lightning.

“I shall return with my Lady,” the Thunder God answered after a loaded moment. Tony relaxed only when Thor was no longer present. Mjölnir was a pointed reminder Thor was going to return any moment now.

“You’re getting cuddly with Short Stack over there, Rambo?” he turned his attention back to the conversation.

“Yeah, something like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are so AWESOME [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay) You are the best!  
> The pov change to Tony was exhausting guys.  
> I hope you enjoy it! 😁
> 
> The lightly fried fish filet:  
> 


	24. I’ll take two scoops of Frosted Jotun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue at the beginning in italics is from the movie, Captain America The First Avenger

_What makes you so special?_

_Nothing. I’m just a kid from Brooklyn._

Like frost forming on the window through the corner of your eye, the cold is always there; waking or sleeping, actively thinking of it or doing his damned best to ignore it by finding stuff to keep busy every second of the day. He can’t escape it.

And these are your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey?

Mortar shells, the hum of bullets and the unmistakable whine of the Tesseract powered weaponry joined in with the screams of men and beasts in a nightmare concerto just as insidious as the damn cold.

_I thought you were dead._

_I thought you were smaller._

The copper tang of blood and ozone; mud and sweat and oil and filth all combine to leave the worst tasting stench that lingers several decades onward. The warning shriek of a train wailing like the ominous keen of a banshee.

_You could have the power of the gods! Yet you wear a flag on your chest and think you fight a battle of nations! I have seen the future, Captain! There are no flags!_

A woman singing hauntingly on the radio, a smoke filled dance hall filled with skirts and uniforms…all frozen. Or was he frozen?

Is he still frozen?

He can see himself with her; twirling her in rhythms and patterns he’d only observed, never actually having gone through with those motions outside of those brief interludes in his apartment with his best pal. His body too frail, too needy, to have indulged in anything other than trying to survive to the next breath. One after the other...In and out...In and out.

But here ... here he is strong and she is so solid, the starched fabric of her uniform thick under his hands. Colors and shapes and sounds and faces all blurred together around them, dancing in the spotlight.

_Gonna need a rain check on that dance._

The brunette in his arms suddenly stopped and stared at him (on the sidelines! How?! Is this a dream...?)

“Beware the son of Ares!”

In the Tower built by the Man of Iron, Steve Rogers bolted upright, wide awake.

~~~

Somewhere in the Pacific with the weather of somewhere in the Mediterranean:

“Brock,” Darcy whispered conspiratorially mouth nearly brushing his ear. She had slipped onto the couch behind him, unashamedly obvious in pressing soft curves oh so invitingly against his back. The warm softness of her womanly form felt searing hot even through his shirt, while small dainty hands slipped over his shoulder and came to rest across his chest.

“Yeah?”

So what if his voice cracked a little? He cleared his throat and put his book down on the coffee table. Darcy still clung to his back, now peering into the kitchen with curiosity playing in her sapphire blue eyes. Even as she pressed forward, legs widening to match his hips, something felt _wrong_ , he couldn't place his finger on it, but his neck was tingling with a sense of something out of order. His gaze swept across the room but he found no discernable threat.

“Your mom has modern clothes, so she visits cities, mortal cities, right?”

The question caught him completely off guard and the fact that she was still squeezed up behind him didn't make it any less distracting.

“Kind of? Why, what do you want to know?” What an odd question …didn’t the two women chatter about this sometime yesterday? Or was it something similar.

“I think your mom would enjoy a certain Swedish Furniture Store.”

Those words were delivered with a soft giggle and made him move around; catching her around the waist he pulled her into his lap, looking down at her sternly.

“Darcy, you and my mom would probably ruin me with the candles alone.”

His credit card winced at just the hypothetical. He’d had a chance to see Darcy’s suite at the Tower; candles of all types and sizes decorated numerous surfaces and somehow made their way throughout the rest of the facility. Not to mention how his mom seemed to light up when he brought her some of the overflow.

This only seemed to make her giggle more and she began wiggling in his lap. He still had the strangest feeling that something wasn't right but was distracted when she looked up at him with a wry smile on her face and cocked her head to the side in a cute way.

“Brock, are you paying for your mother's shopping?”

“Yeah,” he nodded in affirmation, brow furrowing in question. “It’s not like she has modern day income, and her latest husband was mortal and gone some years now.”

“Aww, you're cute.” she giggled and tapped his nose, making no attempt to escape his hold.

“She doesn't need much and I'm not cute woman! Strike Commanders aren't cute.” he grumbled down at her, his fingers absentmindedly stroking over the bare flesh of her arms. “Besides, she provides me with lots of magic gimmicks.”

“ _Former_ Strike Commander,” she reminded him with a strange twinkle in her eyes. “So there is nothing serious business-y left that hinders me from calling you cute and dare I say adorable?” she grinned at him wickedly.

“Wifey,” he growled at her playfully, finger ghosting over her sides. She twitched and laughed but his other hand held onto her firmly. With a rumble, he teased her. “You're playing a dangerous game, there's no pillow to hide behind here.”

“A pillow?” she questioned with a frown and Brock’s sense of _wrong_ pinged again before she shrieked with laughter when a single finger poked into her side, her whole body was twitching. “Unfair!”

A soft far too familiar giggle came from the direction of the doorway of the living room that looked across the hall to the kitchen. Brock looked up from the Darcy in his lap to another Darcy standing in that doorway. She had a bemused smile on her face and wiggled a finger at them.

“Loki!” she chastised, eyes direct on her alleged doppelganger. “No getting cuddly with _my_ husband.” the finger wiggling continued before she jerked one towards the kitchen. “We need your help with the ice cream, so hurry _my_ cute butt into the kitchen.”

“What?”

“Loki is sitting in your lap, husband,” the (real?) Darcy explained, crossing her arms and leaning against the opening, brow cocked at her duplicate. “This is the first time I have seen him use my form, though … usually he’s a snake or a whole new person.”

“What?” By now, Brock's brain went from 'does not compute' to 'I'm going to strangle him' in a matter of seconds when Loki (still in Darcy's form) pouted at Darcy.

“I was just checking if he treated you right.” The Darcy-in-his-lap tossed her (his? Its?) nose in the air before returning to his usual form.

It was with immense satisfaction that the little bastard of a trickster made a comical squawk (ala Bart Simpson) when Brock’s fingers clamped around his throat in a vise grip. With eyes blazing in fury he squeezed a little before growling.

“DON’T! EVER! Take. Her. Form. _Again!_ ”

“Brock!”

Yeah, standing Darcy was really his … the gagging, choking creature in his grasp could never compare to the genuine warmth and concern looking alarmed the longer he kept squeezing the imposter. His face was starting to turn a rich, dark blue that went beyond a mere human’s capacity of being cut off of oxygen.

“Brock, please! He didn’t mean any harm!“

“Brock?” Circe’s voice wafted from the kitchen. “Darcy…Loki? Is something wrong?”

“No, ma!”

“No, Circe!”

Darcy and Brock’s voices chased each other in response, and Darcy bit her lip. Maintaining extended eye contact with his wife, with a shake Brock shoved the trickster god off his lap in irritation, before he was tempted to strangle him for real this time. He didn’t even feel bad as Loki’s arms pinwheeled about, landing with a thump and a whoosh on the ground.

“Kinky,” Loki wheezed out with a grimace, hands automatically reaching for but not grasping his throat.

He further glared as the Norseman scrambled to his legs and dusted imaginary dust of him, sticking his tongue out at his hosts’ son.

Darcy rolled her eyes at both childish displays, her own breath releasing a heavy sigh of relief.

“Loki! You could just have asked, what is it with you and going out of your way to fuck things up?”

Typical Loki antics that would normally have her in contradicting giggles and exasperation. Thor was often the target; Jane not so much since she slapped the arrogant smirk off his face during the Aether Situation. Usually, she could handle this better, but Darcy couldn’t deny that the sight of Loki with his hands all over her husband made her furious and long to call one of the Shades and see how Loki appreciated a deathly apparition hexed upon him.

It wasn’t really jealousy … she and Brock both went through a lot and neither of them needed Loki’s adoption and younger sibling issues on top of the shit-show that he and her maternal incubator threw them face first into.

“It's fun beside there 'sadly' was no fucking involved.” the young godling commented dryly. “Now what is this about ice cream?”

“Circe wanted your help,” Darcy reiterated, part of her wondering at the immediate change in her friend’s attitude.

Amused, she watched him straighten his jacket sleeves and hold himself taller as he strutted out the living room back to the kitchen. The soft murmuring as the two greeted one another was too much for Darcy to resist; she had to observe for Science! And to give Thor and Jane a first hand accounting.

Plus, the look on Brock’s face was not inviting and she felt it was the better part of valor to retreat. Her own father would get that look every so often and it was hard won experience that told her when it was time to abscond from the battlefield.

When Brock finally calmed his anger at the Nordic Dipshit God of Dipshittery down enough to be sure he wouldn't actually attack him - his wife for whatever reason actually liked the Fucker - he ventured into the kitchen.

The sight of Loki in his true form as a nine foot tall, _very_ blue skinned Jotun, sitting barefoot and cross-legged on his mother's kitchen floor with a metallic bowl between his feet and stirring in said bowl, almost made up for the fact that the little –now tall, fucking shapeshifter shit- blue bastard morphing into his wife in an effort to trick him.

Far more amusing was the Jotun’s grumbling all the way about how, 'I'm a prince not a fucking ice machine' and scowling at the ice cream in process.

Darcy chided him softly. “Don't freeze it too fast, Lokes! It will get clumpy.”

Brock grinned and hummed the tune to 'Frosty the snowman', venturing back into the living room to grab himself a glass of Scotch. It wasn't even noon yet but sue him, after Loki's fucking trick he needed a drink alright?

He’d _known_ something wasn’t right and he was pissed it took him having his wife explain what was literally right in front of him perched on his lap to realize what his instincts had been trying to warn him about.

And he was mad …. Furious.

How dare that Therapy Poster Child imitated _his_ wife … and touch him … and …gah! Teasing him, bantering … fucker knew Darcy enough (grr) to have a good grasp on how she would respond. Asking all the questions about his mom … The realization that Loki had asked him about his mother in a roundabout way suddenly occurred to him.

What was up with that?

Brock sauntered back to hover in the kitchen entrance. Eyes carefully roaming over the three occupants he tried to figure out what the blazes was going on, the Fates were really fucking with him at the moment, at least it seemed that way. On top of all this, Loki also appeared to be staying for lunch and his mother had made no comment or indication of throwing the Trickster out. Instead, she giggled at one of his jokes and the Asgardian Prince gave her a charming smile in return.

Wait …what?!?

Oh Shit! Oh no!

Brock downed the rest of his Scotch in one go and pinched the bridge of his nose, hard.

“Fuck!”

~~~

It was sometime later in the day, and the dust motes played with the beams of sunlight in counterpoint to the lengthening shadows dancing with edges of the nearly empty bottles. The house had the kind of stillness that came when the occupants were not engaged in activity that would break the almost peaceful silence.

“Brock?”

Tension threading through his body, he snapped his eyes to Darcy, eyes narrowing as he looked her form over carefully.

“It is really me doofus,” she giggled, her ring twinkling at him as her hand covered her mouth in deference to the mood.

“Uh-huh?” he drawled, still a little suspicious. His eyes were intense and she shivered at the pinpoint focus that nailed her in place; her throat bobbed as she watch the play of muscles flex as he slowly brought the cup of liquor to his lips and took a long pull. Unconsciously, she licked her lips and followed the bob of his adam’s apple, almost mesmerized.

“Loki and your mom disappeared into her spell room.” Darcy managed to grit out of a throat that seemed blocked like a landslide.

The immediate scowl and sour expression that stole dark, threatening shadows across the planes of his face had a smile twitching in further amusement, enough to shake some of the paralysis that seemed to overtake her. The long summer dress she had changed into after breakfast fluttered and swirled around her bare feet as she moved further into the room. Experience with the fallout of Loki’s pranks taught her to tread carefully.

“Oh come on, hubby … they are sooo cute!”

She was pleased that she hadn’t just been seeing things earlier; she trusted Brock’s intuition and knew he wouldn’t be this sore about the magical duo unless he had seen something himself.

“Absolutely not. That sociopath and my mom aren't cute!” he disagreed vehemently and it only made Darcy's smile widen. “Do you know how many people he killed?”

“Well … if he stirs her potion?” she tilted her head in faux thought, not evening fighting the grin at the mulish clench of his jaw.

“Darcy!” Brock groaned loudly, slapping his free hand over his face and dragging in down in exasperation. “Gaia! Darcy!”

Giggling she sat down on the couch beside him and leaned against his side, head resting against his shoulder. She could literally feel the muscles beneath her cheek slowly start to unclench, and she frowned briefly at another victim of Loki’s mischief.

“It could be worse,” she hummed softly one hand patting his thigh. “She could help him polish his wand.”

The last part ended in a snort and she turned to bury her head into his side, holding onto him while she shook with laughter. He found it endearing, even if the subject tasted bitter in his mouth.

“I mean I always knew he was into older woman but your mom,” she half mumbled and half laughed into his chest. “She turned him into a pig and he's … he's damn smitten!” She is still giggling. “He changed into his Jotun form in front of her, do you know how rare that is?”

“Nope.” Brock frowned and gently pried her off him, meeting her eyes. “Sweetheart, you know he killed people right?”

Darcy stiffened in his hold, her laughter dying abruptly.

“So have you! What are you saying Brock?” she hissed. “That Loki isn't good enough for your mom?”

“Darcy,” he began carefully, sensing that this was a sore topic. “I know he is your friend but he killed some of my friends in his insane attack and so many innocent … I just want my mom to be happy and safe.” he sighed at her expression.

“Don't get me wrong sweetheart, you can't blame me for thinking that! I don't know him like you do and all I've seen so far was rather unfavorable, you got to admit that. Besides, I don't want him with my mom, not after my father. She doesn't need another god fucking up her life.”

“How do you manage that!” she huffed and pulled herself away a little, looking at the couch. “How can you say something like that and sound so reasonable? I want to scream and huff at you for badmouthing my friend and you just have to make it sound so logical!”

Brock held back an amused chuckle and a sigh of relief.

“Sweetheart. I got years of tactical training and negotiation skill on you. I'd be really disappointed if it all were for nothing.” he reached out and traced a finger across the back of her hand. “How about I make you another coffee and you throw all these things at my head huh? To get them out?” he questioned and then wiggled his eyebrows at her. “As far as I've seen there still some scones left. We're a little early for the correct Hobbit Afternoon Tea but who really cares?”

“If you keep this up you'll spoil me with food until I can't even walk up the stairs anymore and honestly; I swear if you laugh I'll hit you and not in the kinky way either. I would actually rather drink some water or tea, this heat is getting to me. I'm not used to it at all.”

He can't help the smirk on his face and she grabbed a pillow and held it up threateningly until he raised his arms in surrender.

“It's probably the lack of sleep and magical jet lag. You’ve been in what, three different magical lands in the last three days? That’d be enough to mess with anyone, divine or not. You should lie down on the veranda, sweetheart. There is plenty of shade and a nice sea breeze. It will help and I'll be right along with that scone and water.”

“A nap and some shade to sleep in does sound awesome,” she admitted and he chuckled again.

“Then let’s get you tucked in,” he didn’t even have the good grace to act like the pillow hurt him, the ass.

Following her outside just a few minutes later he found her on one of the lounges hiding a yawn behind her hand. Her eyes fall onto him and a smile found its way onto her face. An occurrence that Brock was bound and determined to keep happening as often as he could.

“I feel like all I do is sleep and every time I wake up there's some new fuckery.” she complained eagerly accepting a glass of water. “So don't you dare let me fall asleep before evening. Preferable with a full night sleep.”

“Oh, I know of some things that can keep you up.” Brock chuckled softly as his wife flick water in his direction, sitting down on the lounge she is lying on as she scooted a little to give him more space but allowed his close proximity without any hesitation. “So? You wanted to throw a small tantrum to feel better?”

Shifting on the lounge she put her glass away and glowered at him a little before huffing cutely.

“No, that was _your_ suggestion. Who encourages a tantrum anyway? You’re weird,” she jumped as Brock goosed her side in retaliation before continuing. “I have decided not to defend Loki as it isn't any of our business what they do anyway. Your mom is old enough to decide for herself and Loki may be an idiot sometimes, but he would never force her, that's not in his nature.”

Brock frowned down at her.

“How can you be so sure?” he questioned. “He helped your mom set up that stupid ass plan with the Hydra.”

It will be a long time to never before Brock ever forgave the godly duo for their part in putting Darcy in danger. Not just from the drugs, or the potential of being eaten alive … oh no. The real rub of it all is that now Darcy is front and center where no one wanted to be…under the suspicious eye of Zeus and his Olympian cohort.

He knew from experience the best way to survive in that glittering throng was to either be powerful enough to make people think twice, or to be quiet enough to be ignored. Since she no longer had the majority of her divinity to work in her favor, being ignored was the best option she had available and now she was right back where she and he didn’t want her to be.

“Because that is mischief. Loki lives mischief like your father lives war. He can't help it.” she started into a rant and then caught herself and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I don't want to discuss this now. I don't want to fight. Can we talk about something else?”

“Seriously?”

“Brock!”

“Of course, fine, whatever. What would you like to talk about, dear?” Brock accepted ungraciously, not even bothering to hide his ire. He hated arguing about serious matters with his wife, but damn it, she should know after dealing with Ares that he has a right to be concerned about anyone – much less LOKI – making goo-goo eyes at his mom.

Circe was all the goodness that he had ever had in his life; the majority of his siblings on Ares’ side were just as terrible as their mutual sire, or seriously stuck up. And don’t get him started on the siblings sired by Aphro-slut-a-dite. They were the worst and so was she.

He didn’t really have much interaction with his mother’s other children, many of them having lived mortal lives themselves decades or even centuries before he was born. And he wasn’t young anymore by mortal’s reckoning, even though almost fifty five would seem like barely out of diapers for his more divine leaning siblings.

He thought he may have some distant nieces or nephews running around from the Great Odysseus Scandal … three of his mother’s children were born to that man who was so ‘loyal’ to his wife that he had children with other women in his ten year absence. That same man who got pissy with his actual wife who was pressured just to have a feast for potential suitors after being declared dead by his government. The way women were treated back then made him – raised by a wonderful, powerful, strong (more often than not) single mother – it made him furious. No person, man or woman should ever be made to feel lesser.

Darcy was biting her lips once more and fumbling with her hair again, uneasy with being on the outs with Brock.

“Uh well. There are still a lot of questions I think we should discuss.”

”About?” he prompted, cocking an inquiring brow.

“Don’t be a …”

“An ass?” Brock hazarded a guess. It seemed her go-to complaint if he wasn’t acting the cookie cutter romantic lead.

“Yeah, but no, but …gah!” She glared at her husband, crossing her arms. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Hmm.”

Darcy huffed and turned to grab her water, angrily chugging down the liquid hoping to ease the burn of her own temper. This wasn’t what she had planned at all and she found herself more frustrated at his own anger. Which …okay …. Maybe he was a bit justified in his anger.

Setting down her now empty glass, she sighed, shifting against that muscled thigh, just a bit grateful that he hadn’t just up and left her by now. She could have stayed mad at him if he had …yet he stayed. Yes, Brock wasn’t agreeing with her, or trying to see her point of view …but …that wasn’t exactly bad … was it? She wasn’t exactly being chatty about the stuff he apparently _did_ want to talk about.

“Oh, Gaia! Are we having our first fight as a married couple?”

Later she would deny that she squeaked as she found herself lifted out of her seat. Hands reached out automatically to grip his shoulders as he settled her in his lap, legs spread over his thighs. His left hand grasped her hip and lower back, fusing them together in an intimate embrace. His right hand cupped her chin and the back of her skull, fingers tunneling in the lush locks tousled and curly in the humidity.

“Our first fight as a married couple?” his head tilted wolfishly, considering. Darcy’s eyes widen at the unadulterated predator peeking out through her husband’s familiar russet gaze.

“No, sweetheart. Our first fight as a married couple was the fact that we _were_ a married couple,” his pointer finger tapped lightly at her temple.

“Brock? Wha-what?” she stuttered and she couldn’t help the clenching of her thighs as she _felt_ his chuckle vibrate straight to her core where they were entwined. Her flush had nothing to do with the humidity and everything to do with the alpha male beneath her.

“I guess we have a lot of things we still need to figure out,” he mused as he nuzzled the side of her face he wasn’t gripping. Little licks and nips and oh Gaia! He rubbed his stubble cheek from her jaw to her ear and she lost all concentration. It took longer than she wanted to admit to regain her thoughts, finding herself trying to rock against him but the firm grip he had on her hip and neck made that impossible.

“You couldn't just have used that damned Favor to get acknowledged as a minor war god or, or something?!” her voice is _wrecked_ and he didn’t seem bothered, more amused as he continued his sensual assault on her person.

“Now that would have been something, hmm?” he rumbled and purred the words against her ear and she was not melting thank you very much!

Fuck.

She was melting as his teeth caught her ear and his tongue round that spot right behind the lobe that just drove her nuts and gah! Teeth nipping where her neck joined her shoulder and she couldn’t hold back the whine that escaped her throat.

Since when did she like teeth? That was totally new.

“Just think if I had used the Favor to become a small divinity …. I would have definitely proposed,” he whispered against the skin of her neck and yep …she was so going to have the mother of hickies and she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

“Don't let it get to you husband, with who your father is ... it is to be expected that you have some idiotic moments.” her smirk is wide and then she yipped when the demigod bit her!

“Hey!” She finally remembered that her own arms were free, and grabbed a handful of the thick, luscious hair and tugged. The noise he issued against her skin didn’t sound like he minded it at all and she filed that thought away for later.

“Ah, but from what I saw from your daddy dearest, well, at least now I know from whom you got your temper.”

Brock finally pulled back a smidge to view his work, an extremely satisfied look on his face. Blushing, she stuck her tongue out at him and he barked a chuckle.

“Promises, promises,” he warned her, and the heat in his eye told her he was very, very serious.

“I missed our stupid banter.” Darcy sat up a bit straighter and leaned against him. “But back to the topic. I would like to know what we are going to tell the others when we get back. And well…is it safe to assume I am to move in with you?” her voice is soft but steady and her blue gaze is settled onto him. “I can continue working for Jane, right?”

“Darcy! Of course!” Brock can't help the exasperated sound escaping him and she let herself fall against his chest and his arms moved around her automatically while hers moved around him.

It might be time to admit how right it felt to be in his arms. Never had she felt safer than with Brock. He was solid in a way that only had one part to do with the firm muscle beneath her, and everything else to do with how he had fast become her touchstone.

She might have unconsciously voiced it out loud.

“If we’re admitting things, I have to confess, after last night I don’t think I would have been able to last not having you with me,” Brock admitted and it was her turn to nuzzle him. “We can stay at your suite but honestly, I think mine is more secure. Mom has given me a few things, and I know she’s brewing up some more items that could be of use.”

“I'm just so glad it was you,” she mumbled while his hand came up to stroke through her soft brown locks. Brock tugged until her head rested against his neck and she snuggled against him.

Gaia! She shouldn't be glad or grateful that he treated her like a normal human being!

Brock honestly toyed with the idea of throwing one of his mother's traveling potions onto Hulk and sending him to visit Olympus.

“Me, too, Darce. Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this was mostly done by [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> I gave her lovely 6 pages and she turned them into 11 absolute glorious pages.


	25. Sunhats, candles and other troubles

Brock pinched the bridge of his nose and took another large gulp of Scotch. There was no way he would admit that the fucking Trickster was funny.

No, not even if he turned into a fucking perfect double of Thor (with the armor, red cape and everything) and started complaining about his 'hammer' and how the toaster wouldn't unleash his pop-tarts.

No way.

Nope! Not even when both Darcy and his mom were giggling freely at the evening entertainment the mischievous deity provided.

He started making little illusions of flying pop-tarts and chased them around the living room, threatening the wrath of his hammer and Asgard upon the snacks.

The Trickster God had Darcy in stitches and his mother was amused enough to laugh along. No lie, but it truly wasn’t funny. He didn’t get it. Now if it had been the real Thor …. Yeah, it still wouldn’t have been funny. At least, not funny enough to beg the Trickster to stop on pain of having to pee.

Only when Odysseus started to chase the baked pastries, did Brock finally allow himself to crack a smile. The complete flabbergasted look on Thor's (Loki's) face when Odysseus jumped onto him without any hesitation to obtain the 'snack' was priceless and he felt no small amount of vindication.

“That’s my boy, Odi!” Brock saluted the war boar with his glass.

Little hoofed legs flailing wildly while the whirly tailed wonder manhandled –pig handled? - The Asgardian Prince to the floor, perching himself right on top of the still shape shifted god and snapping his jaw into thin air with growing frustrated oinks. Brock wondered what Loki would do if Odysseus hit peak frustration and started peeing and releasing his bowels in disgruntlement.

One of Circe’s suitors a while back had experienced such a thing. The arrogant prick had thought to impress his hostess with extreme machismo, and wound up taunting and bullying poor Odysseus to the point the boar had charged him and immediately began excreting all the waste in his two hundred plus body. Circe and Brock had just watched, fascinated, and taking bets on who’s squeal was the loudest – the idiot or Odysseus. The pair had even developed score cards and even now, decades later, Brock still got tickled.

Catching his mother’s eye, the pair shared a knowing smirk. The flailing limbs were reminiscent of that very encounter ... Odysseus was not light and when he sat on someone, it was very difficult to remove him. If he remembered correctly, that same suitor – some poor rich bastard attempting to find treasure or Atlantis or some shit to get rich without effort – had been magicked into a small rodent after a particularly vulgar diatribe issued against the mother and son. The former man should not have been so surprised; Circe had explained upon his rescue her powers and Brock was certain the man hadn’t believed her.

Poor bastard. Probably wasn’t even smart enough to know that rodents were a particular favorite of wild boars who have been observed eating everything and that their diet includes nuts, acorns, seeds, roots, fruit, rodents, and small reptiles.

The world was a better place without the brat anyway.

Later - after Odysseus had been distracted by some real snacks and Loki was doing a retelling of the whole 'How did Thor get Mjölnir back from the Giants whilst wearing a wedding dress' saga which included appropriate shapeshifting into Thor wearing said wedding dress and a veil, switching into a female Loki, and eventually a grizzly looking giant when it fit the story - Darcy started making her excuses for the night.

“I'm off to bed. I've heard this story one too many times,” she informed them with a smile and a tired yawn. Loki’s resulting pout and huff elicited an impressive eye roll and snort of disdain.

“Don't forget to do the last part with Frigga!” she singsonged and Loki mouthed her words back with a sneer.

“You are _so_ mature, Loki-son. You’re _how_ old again? Goodnight, everyone!” Grabbing her wine and her water glasses she swung her feet off the couch and rose to leave.

Brock gave a pout of his own, choosing to scowl down into his tumbler of Scotch instead of further staring at his wife like a lovesick puppy. He was just tipsy enough to start feeling all the feels, including, apparently, hurt male pride his wife was leaving him alone with his mother and one of her newfound groupies.

“Just put them in the sink, sweetness,” Circe called after her with motherly affection. “I’ll have a spell take care of the dishes later on.”

“Oh, how handy!” Darcy grinned at her. “You'll have to show me that one at some point, just to see how long it takes Jane to figure out that the dishes wash themselves.”

Circe beamed brightly at her new daughter while she laughed softly and shook her head in amusement.

“From what you told me it would take her a long time, but sure, I can show you tomorrow.” Still, Brock could see how pleased his mother was to have someone genuinely appreciate such a small skill and being asked – not coerced, or manipulated, or threatened – into sharing her gift. Gaia knew Circe had a teacher’s heart and a healthy ego.

“A week at least,” Loki drawled while returning to his default Asgardian form. He turned his gaze back to Circe. “I once hung around their lab for a week and the little Muse only noticed my presence when she sat down on the couch beside me to sort through some of her notes.”

“Wait? Jane's a Muse?” Brock interjected completely confused and everyone turned to stare at him. What, he hadn’t been that silent through Loki’s Great Retelling.

“And what do you mean you were in the Tower for a whole week?!”

He hoped to Thor’s mom Frigga that it wasn’t while he was on duty. Such a breach could be expected before he took over, but after? It grated and the shithead obviously knew it as Loki grinned mischievously and Darcy burst out laughing.

“How can you not know that Jane's a Muse???” she grinned from one ear to another before she pondered thoughtfully. “Wait, did you really not notice because you were distracted by flirting with me?”

Shit, he really did … or were they pulling his leg?

Brock narrowed his eyes in suspicion and grumbled. “Are you all trying to pull one over me? Because Jane isn't a Muse. _THAT_ I would have noticed.”

He hoped. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Oh, his team and the Tower were going to _loathe_ him as he was now mentally formulating new protocols, training, and drills.

“Oh Brock,” Darcy smiled with amused affection. “Good to know that I can hide things in the lab.” she teased him good naturedly before continuing with, “Jane is the daughter of Urania. Muse of Astronomy. So a demi. I still can’t believe you missed that.”

“Excuse me for not noticing the scatter brained scientist who forgets to shower if you don't throw her out of the lab is part divine!”

This made them laugh all the more and he continued to fume. He knew there were more demigods and goddesses at Stark’s Tower than just him and Darcy – but there had to be some greater magic at play with all the time he spent around Jane while trying to court Darcy.

“I'll confess … Jane is something, but you'll love her once you get to know her. She just focuses like a lot.”

“That,” Brock snorted. “Is the understatement of the century.”

“Engrossed,” Loki mumbled behind his hand. “She doesn't notice a thing when she works; it is adorable in a disturbing way. I once colored her hair into different shades of purple and she didn't take notice for an entire day and then she had the gall to like it!”

“It was a good look on her and you did her favorite galaxy scheme you dork!” Darcy half chided and half laughed at him before looking at Circe. “He's usually rather mindful of his tricks, at least hair wise.”

“I assure you it looked ridiculous!” Loki hissed, offended, while Darcy shook her head vehemently.

Brock groaned into his hand, pinching his nose, mind still on the various breaching of protocol and the massive rookie inattentiveness that plagued him apparently.

“Stark knows? Right?” he questioned. “He must, there's no way no one noticed you flaunting around the Tower before. I betcha that’s why you always dramatically announce your presence when you want to fight Thor.”

“Correct,” Loki smiled like a Cheshire cat before mockingly imitating Thor's speech. “The Man of Iron and I do indeed have an unspoken accord.”

“Lunatics, I'm working for and I'm surrounded by lunatics!”

Why didn’t closing your eyes and wishing things weren’t true work when you were an adult instead of a kid hiding under the blankets?

“Don't be rude now, dear.” his mother is obviously amused by the ongoing bantering between all of her three house guests.

This was probably the most amusement she had had in months, Brock mused glancing over. She was patting Odysseus's thick hide absently and lounged about on one of the couches elegantly, sea blue-green eyes watching the shenanigans in delight while she sipped from her own wine glass.

A fucking Queen.

Literally, wasn’t she?

“Well, I wish all of you a good night,” Darcy once again repeated before turning to look at Loki with a playful stern expression. “Don't skip out on the Frigga part!”

“Yes, _mom_!” He rolled his eyes and gave a great, heaving sigh, turning his head to pout at the opposite wall from Darcy.

She rolled her eyes at him before giving Circe a polite nod. Her mother-in-law returned the nod with a loving smile.

“Sleep well sweetness. I've laid out a warmer blanket for you. Brock mentioned you suffered from ice feet.”

Darcy pouted and winked at Brock, complaining dramatically. “Traitor! How could you tell them my greatest weakness?”

“That's called self-preservation, sweetheart, and I got plenty of that.”

~~~

“Go after her you idiot.”

Brock had followed Darcy not too long after she left, just long enough to glower at the Trickster a little more, but apparently long enough that his mom felt the need to send him off.

He was how old and his mother was sending him off to bed? He grumbled the entire way up the stairs.

Threats against Loki if he dared attempt any untoward wooing of his mother mixed in with general grumpiness and stinging pride at having been all but banished.

He opened the bedroom door and was already halfway through the archway thinking of the most creative torture for a certain Nordic deity when his brain registered what he was seeing with a clichéd record scratch.

 _Our Mother Gaia! Hallowed be thy_ name!

He had thought Darcy tempting in her almost sheer nightgown… but _this_.

She had come to a halt in front of the bed, obviously just about to slip into it and there was nothing to obscure his view from her bare legs. The seeming miles of smooth pale skin freely on display and his gaze traveled over them hungrily and unashamed. Starting from the tips of her toes and all the way up to the mid of her thighs where the hem of his own damn tee-shirt betrayed a more complete profile.

Shit!

The sound he uttered had everything to do with a desperate attempt to stop himself from just pressing himself against her back and making her his in every way. He had thought that her smelling of his shampoo was satisfying enough for now but seeing her wearing his clothes made him feel possessive in all kind of new ways he had never thought to encounter.

“Brock?” she had turned to him and a worried expression crossed her face, tugging on the shirt a little while cocking her head to the side. “Are you alright?”

She stood right in front of the bed and had obviously no idea just how close to the edge he was.

And then she bit her lush bottom lip again and it was like any higher brain power just short circuited and he was nothing but instinct.

The door shut behind him and he didn’t even register how he covered the distance between the door and his wife. He didn’t hesitate or stop until he was right up in her personal space and one of his hands shot forward, cupping the back of her head and using his thumb and the grip on her hair to pull her head back and up to the angle he required.

His other hand grabbed onto her waist, fingers spanning the width and digging the tips of the digits into the small of her back hard enough he knew she would carry the imprints as he pulled her flush against his front. Her breath left her in a whoosh and he gave a satisfied hum as he rolled his hips in a demanding, erotic rut. Sapphire orbs widened in surprise, dilating as they met the raw passion in his own, knowing that she saw eyes gone crimson fire.

He undulated against her again, a wicked smirk baring his lengthening canines as her body responded of its own accord, seeking to match his rhythm but he held her steady with sheer force after a few moments indulgence.

She squeaked a little and an adorable blush bloomed over her cheeks and down her neck where the hicky he had sucked into being earlier still contrasted starkly with her otherwise pale flesh. He chased that blush with his mouth, holding her firmly against him while he nibbled at her supple skin. His tongue sampled the smooth flesh, delighting in the erotic shudder beneath his lips as he allowed his canines to scratch against the vulnerable skin of her throat, tonguing the rapid throb of her carotid, seeking to find that same spot that had made her melt against him earlier in the day.

Her hands grasped with desperation to latch onto the shirt currently worn on his body and he unconsciously took a step forward, backing Darcy further toward the bed until the back of her thighs hit the mattress, his mouth trailing back over her cheek to seek her own in a kiss while he lowered her onto the bed before he could really think about it. Darcy was practically clinging to him, nails digging into his shirt and he hissed in pleasure at the tiny stings of pain, those luscious curves pressed against his own solid form in all the best ways. She tilted her head in profile to allow him better access.

He had perched himself above her, one arm still around her waist as he easily scooted her further up the bed, one knee left the ground and nudged her legs and she instinctively arched her back to widen her legs to grip his waist and torso with her thighs. With her feet bracing against the edge of the bed to give her leverage, she thrust against him in a way that ripped a snarling growl from his chest at the feel of her small heat against his abdomen. It was Darcy’s turn to purr her pleasure as her lips did some claiming of their own.

One foot still planted firmly on the ground, his hands moved from caging her to gently trail up from her hips to her stomach, continuing to further trail up her shoulders and arms in barely there touches before roaming back down her body where they were joined, his weight keeping her pressed in place. His fingers moved to push up the shirt she wore, his shirt, and snagged underneath the thin strip of undergarment stretched over her hips and just tugged, the flimsy material snapped without any real resistance.

He may be practically mortal by Divine standards but he was still a demigod and it showed.

She squeaked in surprise, her fingers remained clutched into his shirt and her whole body trembled beneath his. It wasn’t an altogether sensual shudder either.

 _Fuck_.

~ ~ ~

Darcy was in a living, heavenly Hell. She was helpless to the fever overtaking her body, the blood thrumming through her veins feeling like molten lava. The steamy combination of nerves and lust and anticipation a potent aphrodisiac singing in her soul. Just now, the last few minutes when her husband swooped in and took control – Goddess, she didn’t know that she who prided herself on her independence would find that so fucking hot – she absolutely melted as he gripped her, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, all those wonderful muscles she wasn’t afraid to admit to have lusted after working and flexing beneath her hands as he laid her down onto their bed.

If she were being honest with herself, she had hoped that she would still be awake when he came to bed, she had meant to apologize. He had not deserved her snippy behavior regarding Loki's tricks. It was not an excuse, nor a good one, but she was so used to defending the Jotun as if he were a little sibling that she did it without really thinking about it. Combined with the stress of the last days it made her, well a little _bitchy_.

But then her husband had come through that door like he owned it and something seemed to have shaken loose. He had swept her in the most intense kiss she could ever recall having been the recipient of, and oh boy! Did he ever let her know with his body how much he desired her. And the way he held her? As if he was not giving her even a moment to doubt or get away before he had his own way?

Until that moment, lost between her indignation at her alleged pedigree, the stress of betrayal and seeing childhood nightmares, she had forgotten what it was to feel desired. Her, little Darcy Lewis. Not Jane, not Natasha; not Pepper, or Maria, or Sif and Valkyrie.

Her husband wanted her and he didn’t care if she knew about it. Brock had kept touching her, kissing her, nibbling at her skin and moving his hands and tongue all over her, and she lost just about every thought of talking much less any thinking in general. The only sounds that escaped her were small mewls of pleasure.

He laid her upon the altar of his bed and worshiped her body as if his very life depended upon it.

And then he ripped her panties off.

Like, legit ripped her panties off like she was some Harlequin ingénue.

Gaia, her whole body shook. That was kind of hot.

Her feminist card was being revoked and she wasn’t even sure she cared.

And then he stopped!

What the fugly duckballs was up with _that?!_ He _did not_ get to rile her up and then just stop.

Rude.

“Darcy,” Brock ground out, voice rough. “Fuck!” the curse fell off his lips which still were dangerously and temptingly close to hers while he pulled back before she could reply.

“I didn't mean to, shit.” he swore again and gently pried her fingers off of his shirt. “Fuck. I didn't hurt you did I?”

Darcy just laid there, stupidly just blinking up at him as she tried to calm her body down enough to just focus. This was important, she could feel it in her bones.

_Light bulb!_

Before her husband could panic any more - and wasn't that just adorable and sad at the same time - she moved her arms around his neck.

“Brock,” she gently whispered which made him pause and meet her gaze, his eyes still a blazing fire red.

Darcy pulled herself up against him and gently pushing her lips against his. It was a sweet kiss, just a soft brush of lips against lips before she pulled back again.

“You didn't hurt me.” she assured him, moving one hand over the crease in his forehead which immediately eased at her words. “And I trust you not to hurt me.”

Gaia, the relief that flooded his face melted her heart.

She loved that man.

 _Shit_.

She really did, didn't she?

Before she could lose her nerve or the warm fuzzy feelings spreading all through her at her own realization -it wasn't lust okay? Well maybe it was fifty-fifty okay? Who could blame her? Her husband was hot and clearly in love with her - she reached down between the two of them and tugged her shirt up.

His eyes widened almost impossible when he realized what she was doing and one hand clasped around her wrist, halting her progress.

“Are you sure?” he looked at her imploringly, eyes a swirling mix of bright reds while his thumb caressed the inside of her wrist.

“Brock,” she began but he cut her off, shaking his head.

“Darcy,” his voice was rough. “I don't want you to regret this later, because fuck Darcy you're, you're fucking gorgeous and if you want me to claim you as mine, I'm not going to say no, and I don't think I could stop. I want you to be sure about this.”

 _Don’t break my heart,_ his eyes seemed to beg _Please chose me_.

Darcy understood she would break something precious if she went through with this and then changed her mind later.

 _Yes_ , her heart and soul decided, she loved him with everything she had and he deserved every ounce of it and every bit of happiness she could give him.

“I'm sure.” she told him firmly. “Love me, Brock.”

“As you wish.”

~~~

The stubbled jaw, moist tongue and lips ghosting over her bare stomach tickled her into awareness. Feeling warm and content, Darcy was slow to regain consciousness in full, quite willing to remain in that haze between sleep and wakefulness. There was a pleasing pressure against her lower limbs, and she was almost lulled back into somnolence like a swaddled babe.

“Brock!” she shrieked, suddenly wide awake.

She wasn’t quick enough and her spine locked up as warmth spread throughout her entire body and gushed over. She collapsed against the sheets and her hands darted down below, grasping thick locks which she tugged upward.

“Hmm?” his lips glistened while cocking an inquisitive brow.

“I'm pretty sure it is far too early to be awake,” her voice sounded as if she had smoked a whole carton of cigarettes.

Could anyone blame her? Gaia, even her arm muscles ached, trembling as she forcibly willed her fingers to relax. She blushed brightly at the memory why exactly she felt sore in all the places. As if sensing her thoughts Brock pressed himself against her, muscles playing underneath sun kissed skin and his russet eyes twinkled, a smirk firmly in place.

“Hmm,” he hummed in agreement. “Are you sure you want to go back to sleep?”

His words were accompanied by fingers closing around her wrists and capturing them effectively at either side of her head, while he moved to hover above her. It wasn’t fair, all that skin and muscle bared to her questing eyes. Even his back was sexy, the ass, oh his ass! The bed sheets had moved with him, seeming to peel back to almost give her a glimpse of toned glutes but denying her the full Monty. Teasingly he lowered his head until his lips were brushing against hers, not yet a kiss.

“Knowing you it's seven or something obscenely earlier,” she grumbled a little, a morning person of any kind she was not. Wiggling her hips a little more than necessary underneath him and _accidentally_ brushing against certain parts of his anatomy she delighted at the sexy growl she could feel more than hear.

Brock's smirk widened against her lips and he nipped at her bottom lip.

“It is seven thirty,” he informed her primly. “I let you sleep in.”

Darcy snorted against him, her bare chest brushing against his and she giggled softly, freeing her hands with a soft tug, she once again had fingers tunneling into the longer bits of hair on the top of his head, delighting at the prickly feel of the shorter buzzed hair on the sides.

“Your definition of sleeping in is wildly different from mine, _husband_.” She purred the last word and wasn’t disappointed at the soft press of his hips – and something else – against hers.

“I've been up since five, my little wifey,” Brock purred deeply, moving mouth and tongue to lap across her neck and throat, she mewled when his teeth nipped at her sensitive skin. “And you were just there, all tempting in my arms.”

“You poor, poor man,” Darcy cooed, failing to keep the laugh out of her voice and squealing when Brock tugged her arms up a little farther and brought his lips onto hers once more.

It was one of those kisses again, one of those that left her breathless and wanting more.

“Brock?” she mumbled his name like a question as soon as they parted and he hummed, signaling for her to ask her question. “I've been wondering since last night.”

“Yes?”

“You can do magic?” she bluntly asked.

Brock stared down at her for a few seconds before breaking out in loud and unhindered laughter.

“That,” he wheezed through laughs. “That is what you want to ask, _now_?!”

He had moved off her somewhere during his laughter and lay upon his side, staring at her with a red face, emotions flickering between amused and offended. Perched on one muscular arm he grinned at her, finally settling on amused.

“I feel like that is an important question. You magicked light in the bathroom among other things!” she defended her question and then blushed again. “I was too distracted to remember to ask last night.”

“Too distracted, hmm? I guess I'm not enough to distract you anymore, now that you got all this that you wanted, huh?” he grinned knowingly at her and wiggled his eyebrows before throwing his head back in renewed laughter when she swatted at him.

“It’s a serious question!”

“Darcy, sweetheart, my mother is Circe! Of course I know some basic magicks.”

With that he flicked his wrist eerily reminiscent of his mother’s graceful movements and made a small motion that resembled the ignition of a lighter. A little flame appeared above his index finger.

“Damn, can you do that on your middle finger?” she burst into giggles at his side, burying her face into his chest. “Can you imagine Johnny Storm's face when you do that?”

“Frigga, no,” His own chuckle rumbled deeply through his chest and vibrated to her core while his arms moved around her embracing her in an affectionate hug, his chin came to a rest on top of her head; mind you if she ignored his hand squeezing her ass momentarily.

“How come you never used magic before?” she wondered while he nibbled on her once more; he seemed to like that a whole lot and she wiggled and shivered a little before lightly pushing him away. “Stop it; I'll have marks for weeks.”

Brock chuckled against her skin.

“That's the point, sweetheart.” he rumbled before shaking his head softly.

“You’re impossible. Answer my question … please?” She batted her eyelashes a la Disney doe.

“Fine, as my mother would put it …. I lack the finer points needed for magic.” he snorted amused. There was no hint of shame in his voice. “A small flame or a light orb is the best I can do. Kept me sane while trapped under the rubble at Triskelion.”

Not knowing how to respond to that Darcy just slung her arms and a leg around him and moved her fingers up and down his back in a soft caress.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Brock sighed against her, returning her gesture and running rough fingers softly up her back, following the line of her spine in an absent sort of way.

“There's nothing you could have done.” he assured her. “Besides, I think it pissed the Big Three off that I survived and they actually had to pay me.”

A sharp laugh escaped her, he sounded so smug.

“What about you, sweetheart?” he questioned. “Any magic I should know about?” he hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe the thing you did to my asshole of a sire?”

Darcy froze a little in his grasp before relaxing again.

“That wasn't magic per se,” she admitted. “Just something I can do because I am – _was_ \- an Underworld Goddess.” Darcy stumbled over her words a little. “I can't really do anything great anymore, not that I could do a lot of things to begin with. I was only fourteen. I should have started magic lessons with Hecate at sixteen but after my banishment well…” she shrugged.

His arms around her tightened a fraction before he spoke to her reassuringly. “Hey, hush, you don't need to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“That's not it,” Darcy shook her head a little. “No, it is fine. Really. I'd rather tell you than have you freak out when I get deliveries by one of my father's ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” He made a strangled sound. “Ghosts?”

“Yes, oh wait. Shit. We need to call my dad!” she rambled suddenly. “He'll kill you! He probably already told Thanatos to find someone who will kill you! We need to call him like yesterday!”

She sat up in alarm and her hands fluttered as she fretted over him like he would fall over dead right this instant.

“Darcy,” Brock too sat up and pulled her against him. “We'll do that first thing when we're back at the Tower, alright?” he questioned and she nodded. “I'll survive that long princess.”

They sat on the bed for a while, wrapped around each other and simply enjoying each other's presence when the door opened with a soft clang and Circe marched inside.

“Good morning!” she chirped happily, carrying a basket full with clothing or laundry, Darcy couldn't tell. “I hope you lovelies slept well?”

Darcy squealed in embarrassment, grabbed the blanket and pulled it up her body until it covered her completely. It had the benefit of covering Brock as well. Sometime during their confessional snuggle sessions, she had found herself between her husband’s legs, back to his front as he ran his hands up and down her arms. It had been nice. At least, it had been until her mother in law strutted through the door like Audrey Hepburn.

She was even wearing a skintight black cocktail dress and four inch spiked stilettos that made her look even more amazing than usual. Her light hair was twisted into an elegant updo, the kohl surrounding her eyes making the sea-foam color pop. A shiny red lip color that Darcy envied for its lack in her own collection and a smoky eye completed the ensemble.

Circe beamed at her like a little child on Christmas who just received the best damned present of its life.

“I, uh, good morning Circe.” his wife managed to stutter a reply and Brock lowered his head to bury his face into her hair, hiding a snort in her shoulder and nibbling at her neck unashamed, again.

“Brock,” she whispered and pushed against him. “I'm really sensitive there.”

“Yes dear, listen to your wife, you can't keep mauling her like that. Just look at how flushed she is.” his mother chided and of course Darcy turned even redder at his mother's words. “Don't worry sweetness. I have a lotion for you, it should take care of most of the sting and you won't be so sensitive.” his mother hummed in motherly affection. “I should know, I used to use it quite often myself in the past. I haven’t had the need for quite some time, and that is such a shame.”

Reluctantly he removed his mouth from her neck, she turned her head instantly to peek up at him, blue eyes wide.

Circe walked farther into the room humming softly and put the basket down by his wardrobe before swinging it open.

“I'm so glad the two of you made up.” she continued to chatter and clapped her hands in front of her. “So I put together a small selection of gowns and dresses for you. Some pants and blouses too if you want.”

Darcy was still bright red and squeaked in embarrassment once more, turning her head to bury it into his shoulder. Gaia, had they been that loud? With her head still bright red she finally addressed Circe.

“Thank you, that is nice of you but I can just bring a suitcase next time?”

“Oh that is a good idea, do that. We can arrange a nice wardrobe for your next visit where you can store everything, so you have a full second wardrobe and don't need to bother with a suitcase every time you visit.” his mother grinned in delight and waved a hand at him. “Put it on the purchase list Brock.”

Snorting softly he nodded. “Sure thing ma.”

“And sunhats, you look lovely in sunhats.” Circe decided nodding to herself while she put the clothes she had brought away. “Here,” smiling fondly she held up a long sundress. “You should wear this one today.”

“I have a hat face.” Darcy nodded softly before smiling in delight at the red dress. “That is an awesome dress. You have the nicest clothes!”

His mother preened, her face brightened even more and her back straightened at the compliment. “Thank you so much sweetness. Brock will take us shopping in Italy soon, won't you dear?”

“Dear Gaia!” he mumbled into her back before replying louder and clearly irritated. “If I have to.”

Darcy giggled at his sour tone and leaned back, turning her head slightly upwards to grin at him.

“I promise it won't be so bad, you might be asked to carry some bags but all I really need are some candles.”

“Oh, candles! I _love_ candles! Especially if I don’t have to make them!” Circe clapped excitedly, eyes bright at the possibilities.

He was in deep, deep trouble.

“Oh, candles, no,” Brock grimaced. “Don’t you have enough, woman? Hey!”

Almost being blinded as Darcy had whipped around so fast her hair almost took out his eyeballs; he wasn’t exactly prepared as she twisted in front of him and got one good right jab straight to his shoulder.

“Omph! Hey, c’mon, Darce! Quit it!”

She had good form…that was one solid punch. She didn’t even tuck her thumb either.

“Who are you to judge me on my candles when I have seen your damn work locker and who the hell has that many knives and guns, huh? Don’t get on me for my candles!” she continued to slap at him after he stopped her from punching him again. She was slippery his wife.

“Mom…mom! Help! I’m getting hit here!”

“Why should I?” the matriarch arched a brow at her son as his wife continued her attempts to beat him up for his offense.

“Hah!” Darcy cried, triumphant at the same time Brock’s grumbled, “Shit! Mom, you traitor! Oww, Darce, that one hurt!” reached her ears.

“Don’t curse, my son. You know that’s my specialty.”

Circe gave a soft smile; smirking as she watched her son – her highly trained, very lethal progeny – allow himself to be taken advantage of by a five foot three goddess. Her modest daughter in law forgot to be modest as she twisted to deliver social justice upon her spouse, and Circe allowed herself a moment to admire the younger woman’s profile as the blanket slipped.

With those curves and that alabaster skin that showed the most delightful blush, it was no wonder Brock had mistaken her for one of Aphro-sluts gets.

Sighing wistfully at not having met the young goddess first, she began to leave the room when it became clear that the fighting was going to lead to something a lot more amorous than a mother should see. Not that she hadn’t stumbled upon her son in a compromising position or two over the years … he had walked in on her many a times growing up and Circe had never been ashamed of her body or sensuality. But neither did she – or he – go out of her way to broadcast that.

She did have some decorum.

“Have fun you two, although do try not to conceive yet; I want to have a grandchild in my birth month and that is still eleven months away. Wait a couple months before the big bang, yes?”

Her grin was positively evil as she exited to the sounds of a mortified “ _MOTHER!_ ” and a strangled choking that had to be Darcy.

She wasn’t worried about her daughter in law though. She had no doubts Brock would give the Kiss of Life should that be necessary.

Ah, yes.

It was so good at times to be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to my lovely cowriter [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> So, who else could have so many knives and guns 😜 I can't think of _anyone_  
>   
>  I feel the need to point out that Darcy isn't hitting Brock hard or meaning it at all!  
> It is supposed to be 'playful'


	26. Extended Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy everyone!

“EROS!”

The currently light pink god (body spray is such a fancy thing you know?) ducked behind a pillar, bright purple eyes wide and one hand fretted over his perfect snow white curls.

For a moment his fingers ghosted over the two bright red handguns that were strapped to his thighs. Hephaestus newest models, done with a fancy paint job only for him and decorated with his purple heart. The ammunition was his own creation but he doubted any kind of affection/love or lust spell would work on the furious Spring Goddess.

His beloved Sniper Rifle was currently in maintenance, damn it.

Not that he would or could shoot Persephone.

Only a fool would try to harm her.

He shuddered just thinking about Hades and Demeter’s' wrath.

“EROS!” her shrieking shout echoed around his cloudy home. “Come out and I promise it won't hurt too much.”

“I somehow doubt that Pers!” he shouted back and quickly scaled up the pillar, ghosting through the ceiling clouds in hopes of not giving away his position, white feathered wings helping with that endeavor. “I know you're angry,” his voice echoed and the furious goddess looked around in search of him.

She wore a light green dress and her pale skin was flushed in anger, dangerous looking thorny rose bushes sprouted around her and he winced. It would be a bother to get rid of them again.

“But like I told you he is in love with her, shot him myself!”

Her eyes finally found his hiding spot and he reluctantly revealed himself, emerging from his cloud hideout.

“You've seen what happened,” her voice is small and sad, with angry tears in her blue eyes; her gaze met his in silent accusation. “That's not love.”

“But it is, I don't know why both of them acted the way they did.” Eros held his hands up and sighed. “Well I do have a suspicion but I don't want to get involved into this whole mess more than I'm forced to by the Fates.” he shrugged a little. “The Moirai put both of their names down for a true love arrow and I shot both of them personally.”

Now it was his turn to be angry. “I love you like a sister Pers, but this is _your_ mess.” Shaking his head while his wings fluttered angrily behind him. “I told you that they were fated for each other because you asked. I did not know you would abduct your own daughter and serve her as a Hydra side-dish. You got to figure this out on your own.”

“How do you know that?” she questioned him perplexed.

“I was there. It's when I shot Darcy with the true love one. Hit her fair and square right when he emerged from your stupid challenge.” Eros shook his head once more one of his hands moving over his face in.

“Look Pers, there was affection and they are fated but playing with your daughter’s fate like that?! I know you meant well with the whole disaster on Olympus but,” Eros trailed off with a sigh, once more shaking his head as if to clear thoughts away. “Look, I'm all for spreading the love but things are at work Pers, more than you know and I want you to stay out of this. The Fates are very invested in their relationship. I shot him with a possessive arrow to make sure he would take her along at _every price._ Go back to your mother and do your duty for the next few months okay? Gaia knows the humans need all the help they can get with their pollution.”

“Things are at work huh?” she arched an eyebrow at him. “And I'm just supposed to go to work and forget the mess I put my daughter in?”

“That is not what I said!” Eros growled at her, canines sharpening in a feral baring of teeth before he calmed again. “Just stay away from Olympus. That's all I'm saying.”

“And I'm just supposed to believe you?” she questioned him, her finger pointing at his chest, poking against the purple tactical gear. “He. Hit. Her!”

Eros actually winced a little, he looked like he was about to say something before once more shaking his head.

“I know nothing about that and honestly? I don't believe that, of all my siblings this demi-mortal half brother is the only one who I think would never raise a hand against your daughter. Like I said, it is your mess. I can only tell you that they are fated as I've told you numerous times before when you pestered me about it. The Moirai don't just hand out the special ammunition for anyone. Even gods or goddesses.”

He watched her leave his cloudy home, she was still fuming after almost an hour of them talking in circles, and he wouldn't allow her to blame this on him. It was her own mess. He only did what the Moirai put down onto his list.

Most mortals got a simple love shot to nudge them in the right direction.

A True Love Arrow wasn't something to laugh about.

And two of them! Fated for each other!

Gaia!

What a rarity.

The last time he remembered using one of those was one of the many fucked up things that started the Trojan War.

“The little bastard honestly got a True Love Arrow?” the fuming, snippy words made him twirl around to meet his mother's furious gaze.

Today she had sun tanned skin, long wavey dark hair and striking green eyes. Her shorts were so short that he was pretty sure she had no undergarments on, half of her ass was probably showing and he had to bite his tongue to make a comment about the sheer blouse she wore. What grown adult wanted to see his mother’s breasts on such display?

“Technically, I'm a bastard, too.” Eros reminded her softly, just to be a little shit but not enough to draw her anger, he wasn't stupid.

“Oh honey, you're nothing like the mortal bastard of that _damned_ witch.”

He almost sighed in relief of having drawn her attention elsewhere but she continued, her grin positively evil. “Speaking of which, I want you to do something for me.”

“I'm not your servant, mother, and I'm not getting involved in your little spat with father or your insane schemes.” Eros pointed out.

Gods and goddesses be damned, but his parents were toxic. To themselves and any unfortunates ensnared within their crossfire. Of which their children – together or otherwise – were often the collateral damage.

“Don't be that way honey,” she purred at him, green eyes fluttering while she inspected her bright pink nails. “I've heard your lovely little wife is currently visiting Greece, all alone with your kids, that's a little risky don't you think?”

“Be careful mother,” he warned her in a growl. “Don't forget that although I'm a God of Love I'm also my father's son and one of those days you might just wake up with an arrow in your chest.”

His mother laughed brilliantly at him, flipping her dark hair mockingly. “Oh hush. It's just a little a wedding present, nothing to get you all that flustered up.” she giggled in an off putting way. “Out of all my sons you just had to have a conscience.”

“You know that's a good thing right?”

“For you maybe.”

~~~

That Natasha didn't like the current situation didn't need to be voiced out loud.

Natasha didn't like this.

She didn't like this at all.

Something was up; she felt it with every fiber of her being.

She wasn't a world class spy for nothing!

It wasn't just the fact that Rumlow had disappeared at the same time as Darcy after a suspicious attack on the Tower which she still was no way closer to figuring out. Who were these strange new enemies? Because they weren't AIM and far too strange for the usual Hydra tactics.

And one of them.

She had taken a closer look at one of the bodies and something was just not right. Almost like a veil that was put over her eyes and she just couldn't seem to look through it. Natasha couldn't put a finger to it, but it was almost as if what she was seeing and what was really there was not the same. It felt and looked real enough. It wasn't a LMD either. This was something new, something she hadn't encountered before.

The whole situation stunk sky high recently.

She had always known something was off about Stark, she trusted her gut instincts, he meant well but he kept things hidden, there was no doubt about it. He even fucked up catastrophically, more than once, but he still kept things hidden and those hidden things had nothing to do with his usual catastrophes.

But now.

Now things were different, there were just too many small details which did not fit.

The security feed of Darcy's apartment had 'disappeared' and although Tony acted like he tried to figure out how that could have happen, he was clearly acting. It showed up later, obviously an earlier recording but she said nothing. Accepting his answer she hadn't even mentioned the lacking video feed of the staircase into which Rumlow had disappeared.

Wasn't that just suspiciously convenient? The day that Rumlow finally charmed her little _milaya_ into agreeing to a date and they get a full blown attack on the Tower?

Tony and Thor.

They were hiding something from the team.

She wasn't that surprised by Tony, but Thor?

 _WHY_?

Rollins didn't know either which was an even greater curiosity. Rumlow and Rollins were like brothers. It was clear though, that he knew something was up and that it was bothering him to be kept in the dark. He hadn't said anything, but after working with both men for years she knew their tells. Her gut instinct told her that something was up and the former triple agent knew that his partner and boss was in far deeper trouble than he had ever been.

Wasn't that just curious?

These two had only ever confided with one another, so what was so damn important that Rumlow didn't share it with his brother in arms?

What connected Tony, Thor, Darcy and Rumlow?

Thor. The Nordic god knew more than he let on about technology and obviously more than he let on about Darcy's disappearance.

Of all people why him?

He viewed Darcy as his Lightning Sister, or Leiptr Systir. He viciously protected her against any and all kinds of enemies and suitors alike if the small bubbly sunshine made even a hint of not wanting any kind of attention. His love for Jane was just a portent of the protective lengths he went through for the one he called _systir_ in the Old Nordic tongue.

On the other hand it made a lot of sense.

Magic.

It was the only explanation.

Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remained, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s wisdom delivered via Sherlock Holmes was a staple she would stand on, always.

She had seen many things in her life, both with the Red Room and the KGB. Once she became a free agent, she had seen even more. After Clint recruited her, and Phil became their handler, she had seen yet even more in SHIELD’s employ. Things that just led up to the events that climaxed into New Mexico, Germany, and finally New York.

New York was the turning point if only for the fact that one could no longer hide the truth behind myth and hoax. It was a denuding; a veil being torn and a violent baptism that still threatened to drown the surviving planet to this day.

Someone had attacked the tower using magic and Tony and Thor knew something about it, something that they didn't share with the class. Rumlow was probably in deep shit like always, that man just loved to get into trouble far too much for a healthy mind but Darcy?

How the hell did her precious Darcy fit into all that mess?

Darcy was a gift from the gods. She was the soft curves against their harsh edges, a hug when a punch was expected. She was the scent of baked bread, the bitter note of coffee, the sweet of sugar and the spice of cinnamon and vanilla. She was a cup of hot chocolate after the bloodiest mission; she was the voice that rambled on about puppies and cute cat videos and the latest gossip to drown out the screams. She was a warm blanket in hand and the silence of a presence sitting just sharing space.

She was the uncompromising steel against the hubris of the media; she was the snarling defender of them all when they were their own worst enemy, their greatest cheerleader. She was sarcasm and sass; she was their Darcy.

She helped soothe tempers and even shocked the anger out of them all with her own temper. Usually the Scientist Three. Late night data compiling and several fire extinguishers on hand. She could sing and laugh with the Hulk, and threaten Stark into compliance without resorting to Pepper. Jane would have launched all of Earth into some kind of celestial wasteland a thousand times over if it weren’t for the stalwart brunette at her side.

She took care of them all and always seemed surprised when they turned around and did the same. As if she never expected the same courtesy.

If Rumlow had endangered her with his flirting attempts; attempts she had encouraged, because those two would make such a lovely couple, with him all serious and Darcy all cute; but now? She would never forgive herself. Darcy was like the sweet little sister to any and all of the Towers occupants.

She herself had scared countless fools away who were only after a quick romp in the sheets or access to the research of her Three Charges.

Brock Rumlow. That smooth womanizer.

His reputation with women had been honestly earned.

Oh how amusing it had been to watch him try and fail utterly. There had been a 60 percent chance that he would get his feelings hurt. She was so proud of her little _milaya_ , she had been about to give Rumlow the verbal lashing of his life (maybe even a physical one) but Darcy had sweetly told him no.

Not once either, mind you. Haha, take that you smug bastard!

It obviously drove him nuts and it had been downright satisfying to watch him try all of his usual pick-up tactics and fail each and every time. He did not back down, in fact he did the complete opposite, he started paying attention to her, almost obsessed.

There were moments where she wondered if she should have stepped in and told him to back off. Yet her instincts told her that this wasn't just an unnatural healthy dose of competitiveness, although there was no denying that some of that existed. No, the longer this went on, the more it became apparent to her that somehow SHIELDs greatest Lothario had fallen deeply and utterly in love with the little ray of sunshine that was Darcy.

Which was utterly adorable.

The greatest part about it? He had no idea.

No idea that she had started to teach Darcy how to punch early into their acquaintance. The small woman had refused to learn any fighting styles above the basic self defense but Natasha hadn't been too concerned as she did keep up her regular workout, doing some miles on the treadmills and elliptical as well as all the fancy new exercise equipment Stark kept buying as they were released.

She also had been joining her and Bruce for Yoga regularly. It was clear that Darcy wasn't the fighting type, but she was crafty and viscous enough to surprise any attacker with a solid punch or her taser. She was not one to instigate, but she would fight tooth and nail to protect, and that was a step in the right direction that Natasha would not pass up.

Instead of fighting the little sunshine had mentioned an interest in picking locks and Natasha had gladly indulged the smaller woman. Stealth and 'sneakiness' as Darcy called it was clearly more her forte.

Natasha thrilled to impart the more underhanded ways. So often, people forget about the subtle things. They forget that a whisper could be just as important as the shout.

Darcy had an eerie way of walking so silent that even Barnes had trouble hearing her approach, but the cheerful woman was always humming a tune. If she didn't, she practically disappeared and Natasha had long since suspected that she might be an unrecognized mutant.

Now? She wasn't so sure about the mutant part, maybe there was magic involved. You could never know nowadays.

Clearly Rumlow had no idea what he got himself into this time and usually she would have enjoyed watching him get knocked down a notch or two.

But now?

Now she felt like she made a mistake.

What at first had seemed like an surprising, strange and yet good and solid connection between Rumlow and Darcy now seemed to have brought danger to her little sunshine and that was not something she would stand for.

No.

She wouldn't.

There was too much red in her ledger and she wouldn't add Darcy's to it due to some misguided matchmaking attempts. No way!

If the boys were unwilling to talk, well… she had ways of getting the information she needed.

With a sharp smile she pushed herself off the wall opposite of Jane Foster's lab when she saw said doctor look up after obviously having called for Darcy and then remembering she was gone. For a very short moment a worried look crossed the astrophysicist's face before she returned to her work.

If Tony and Thor where unwilling to talk, well, Jane had been threatening wrath upon Tony for a while now. Obviously she also had to know _something_.

~~~

Jack didn't normally snoop unless it was his job to snoop but this time, this time was different.

Brock was gone.

Just like that.

Hadn't even said anything to him, just up and left.

According to their boss Mr. Stark he went after the little sheila who apparently had been abducted.

He'd never heard a greater heap of bullshit.

Brock wouldn't go alone, he wouldn't just jump in without a plan, no, Jack knew him too well. He knew that his brother, because let's be honest they practically were, played on his large, muscle dumb card far too often.

No, Brock would have told him. He would have said _something_.

“If shit ever goes down so hard that I can't tell you what's going on, I want you to come here and open this. I trust you understand that this is a last resort kind of thing.”

The words Brock spoke to him all those years ago echoed in his mind now. The places had changed, but Brock always made sure to tell him where he kept the 'last resort'. For a while, Jack had thought Brock might be hiding a family away somewhere and it would be instructions or something, but Brock was always working, always there, right in the front line beside him.

They had gone through thick and thin and normally a few days absence wouldn't rile him up in such a way but it was obvious that their employer was hiding something.

On top of that, the Black fucking Widow had been snooping around.

The icing on the cake had been Bucky Barnes, in full Winter Soldier getup, checking out the sheila's room, not once but thrice these past days. Once he even spotted him leaving Brock's apartment.

If this didn't classify as 'shit going down' he didn't know what would qualify.

Using his security code override to open his brother's apartment he strolled in with an uneasy feeling. He hoped like hell he wasn't overreacting and breaking his brother's trust. With a glance around he closed the door behind him and made sure it was locked both electronically and mechanically before venturing a little farther into the room.

He took a deep breath and released it slowly.

Jack couldn't explain the nervousness and anxiety he was feeling ever since Brock and the sheila had disappeared, but he trusted his gut instincts, something was wrong.

Brock would forgive him eventually if everything turned out to be alright.

Schooled eyes darted around the pristine apartment; everything had its own place. Brock was very meticulous about that, the little house wifey had some serious ticks.

With a snort he pulled off his shoes, no doubt Brock would fuss more about any kind of dirt than him snooping around worriedly. The heavy and large boots clattered to the floor and Jack placed them by the entrance neatly, lest he face the wrath of housewife Brocky.

He was almost halfway to the bathroom where he knew Brock had a secret hidden compartment (in the shower of all places) when something strange happened.

The first thing he realized was a swooshing sound as if a strong wind suddenly moved right behind him, followed by a brush of air that couldn't have come from the air conditioning, for it was warm and smelled like a sea breeze.

The second thing he noted was a soft thud of feet landing on the floor a short distance behind him and he twirled around with his weapons raised and ready for a fight to see his mate and the sheila magically appear in a swirl of blue smoke.

For a moment he stared at them as if in trance.

“Hey, Jack!” Darcy chirped cheerfully, smile wide while waving a dainty hand and giggled softly. “Sorry for dropping in like this.”

And Brock?

Brock had his arms wrapped snugly around her and fucking smirked at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter almost without Darcy and Brock 😱  
> I never thought that would happen.
> 
> A huge thanks to my lovely cowriter [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> 


	27. Inconceivable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: We apologize to any Australians who read this. Our knowledge of how you talk is extremely limited and most likely inaccurate. Again, apologies.

“Fuck me dead! What the bloody fricking hell was that? How did you…?!” Jack trailed off and kept his weapons trained on their forms unwaveringly as he stared at this unexpected sight.

“A potion!” Darcy beamed at him while tucked snugly in Brock's arms, her back to his chest and facing Jack. Yet another sight Jack needed to add to the “What the hell is going on here,” list going on in his brain.

“Isn't it like totally cool? It can take you anywhere and everywhere and anyplace in between here and there!” she clapped her hands excitedly, her whole face bright with joy. “You could probably rob Fort Knox with one of those and no one would be the wiser.”

While Jack utilized every bit of his training trying his best not to gape at her like a fishy fool, Brock chuckled; his large hands wrapped around the woman in his arms and he tightened his hold slightly before nibbling at the exposed column of her neck. His eyes locked on his partners in a lazy amusement and Jack’s narrowed at the familiar wicked gleam of mischief.

“Sometimes I worry about you, little wifey.”

“WIFEY?!?” Jack almost lost his grip but training snapped the weapons back in place. His arms didn’t show the internal ache that was beginning to build in his muscles at having to hold the weapons so still and parallel.

Brock didn’t bother to hide the obnoxious grin sent his way before his attention was drawn back to the curvy bit of sass and temptation that bore her own smirk.

“Uh-huh!” she huffed, turning within the circle of his arms to poke at his chest in a clearly playful manner. “Don't tell me you never thought about it.”

An almost sheepish look crossed his feature before he all but purred at her his confession.

“It might have been used for something similar during my Crossbones era.”

“Ha!” she gleefully poked at his chest once more.

Brock’s head tilted almost wolf-like, eyes intense upon the little brunette, something almost soft and tender in his regard. There was nothing tender about the hand that left its fellow to remain just under her shoulder blade in order to travel well south and go into ass grabbing territory.

“Aye, you two!” Jack didn't know what to say for a moment, facial expression completely befuddled before becoming serious once more, guns still trained on their forms. “Security phrase.”

Brock's mouth quirked into an amused smile before he nodded at Jack. “My mother's a witch.”

Jack immediately relaxed his stance, smiling with relief before responding with the counter phrase.

“Good thing 'cause your dad's an asshole and deserves to be hexed.”

Darcy stifled her laughter in Brock’s chest, dainty hands grasping at the white linen of his shirt while she mumbled, “That's your security phrase? Does she know?!”

“I hope not!” he rumbled in her ear, and her breath hitched for a reason other than laughter. He couldn’t resist giving a soft squeeze, his hand so large it gripped her opposite hip and tip of her ass at the same time.

Brock was such a multitasking overachiever that way.

Jack slipped his weapons back into the holsters and studied the pair who had caused such a ruckus the past few days. His keen eyes did not miss a thing, and both his brows shot up at the touchy-feely going on right now. He was actually legitimately surprised that Brock wasn’t twitching from an upgraded taser strike knowing the dark beauties reputation.

“Well mate, you got some serious explaining to do. Shit's been going down around here.” Jack informed him while Darcy attempted to untangle herself from her husband without much luck; the man was like an octopus and just as grabby.

“Stark's been saying you went on a mission alone, as if anyone who ever worked with you would believe that. He’s also said that that you,” he jerked his finger towards Darcy. “Have been abducted and Brock decided a solo mission sounded like a good idea.” he snorted a little at the ridiculous and blatant lie of their employer.

Neither Jack nor any of the other STRIKE or SHIELD alumni turned security imagined that Rumlow of all people would go off on a rookie tangent without some kind of plan. Not for Darcy Lewis, when the whole Tower was in on the fact that the Avenger’s pseudo handler and official Lab Manager publicly rejected the admittedly dude-bro douche Johnny Storm-esque (embarrassing, really) attempts at getting in her pants. Or skirt. Or leggings.

The fact that the Thunder God and Man of Iron seemed to have been collaborating with their Head of Security lent credit that Rumlow was in fact not working alone as they were expected to believe.

“Romanov and Barnes have been snooping around in both of your apartments, too. So if anything feels like something’s been touched by judgey, nosy eyes, it has been. It's been funky, mate, and I would like to know what shit you've been getting into without me!” Jack arched a brow at his partner who didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed at all the bugger.

“Couldn't you take me along? Do you have any idea of just how boring this gig is without some proper stimulation every now and then? This past attack, notwithstanding.”

Darcy twisted a little in Brock's hold and rubbed at her arms, shivering with goosebumps dotting her skin, which was no wonder, as she was dressed in tasteful but rather thin crimson summer dress. The swishy material caressed her curves of which there were many and danced along shapely thighs, drawing the eye to the cute leather lace up gladiator-style sandals in an almost wet metallic shimmery gold.

Jack wished he had met this goddess of a woman first.

“He is your brother. Sort of. In all the ways that matter,” she stated softly while pushing against the arms holding her to step away. Jack snorted as Brock took a step forward, hands once again reaching out and finding both sides of her hips, the pair moving in a weird tug and pull dance as his hands glided up her sides, tickling her ribs and belly.

“Stop that,” she slapped his wandering hands with a smile and a set of rolled eyes. “Why don't you give him a rundown on what happened and I grab a few things from my apartment?”

Much to Jack's surprise Brock didn't let go of the little sheila like he expected, honestly astounded at how clingy his best mate was being. It was an Established Thing™ that one Brock Rumlow didn’t cuddle, he didn’t cling, and if he had relations with a woman that expanded past whatever hours they were together in the carnal Biblical sense, he most certainly did not keep them close after. It was with a bemused bewilderment when Brock instead captured her slapping hand and twirled her around, tipping his head down to deeply kiss the woman who despite clearly being surprised by the action didn't fight him in any kind of way.

“Go and raid my wardrobe, sweetheart,” he murmured against her lips, before tenderly turning her into the direction of his bedroom, head buried into her hair to breathe her scent in for a brief moment.

“There's no way I'm letting you that far out of my sight,” he sounded playful but Jack could easily pick up on the tension in his voice and his spine locked in awareness of some unknown danger, ready to act. “With our recent luck our favorite sunny boy might just decide to visit.”

With those words Brock gently pushed her forward while the sheila visibly shuddered at the thought. Now that was very interesting indeed, and Jack was getting very keen to find out more.

“Mm hmm, I'm sure that's your reasoning for sending me into your bedroom.” Darcy sassed while walking away, looking at him over one shoulder, blue eyes twinkling, she pushed her nose into the air in a dramatic way.

A smirk found its way onto Brock's lips and for a moment Jack could have sworn his eyes contradictorily lightened and darkened red, but a blink of an eye later it was gone.

“Go in there and find out princess.”

“Oh, I will. Too bad you’ll be out here while I’m in there …. Maybe I’ll give the bed a test run.”

“Let me know how that goes, sweetheart. We’ll be sure to work out the kinks later.”

Dear god, the flirting and innuendo was so intense to be privy to. He had observed some of Brock’s earlier attempts with the sheila and those were nothing like the banter and eye sex and blatant near vulgar thing they had going on now. Jack felt like he was in the middle of a porno mixed with a Hallmark rom-com and the best thing was he didn’t have to pay.

Jack probably had the dumbest smile on his face when Brock finally ripped his gaze from the departing beauty and turned his attention back to him. But really? Jack couldn't fault him, the little minx had sauntered away with a playful swing in her hips and he was helpless to watch as well. When he was finally able to drag his eyes away from such a beautiful sight, for a few long seconds he was sure Brock would go after her and leave him. (Maybe even put a sock over the door handle, who knew?)

“Well?” Jack demanded impatiently tapping his foot once the door closed behind Darcy. “What the ever fricking hell mate! Magic?! Again? Magic that you use personally and not something the fucker of the week is tossing at us?”

“You want a beer? Or something stronger?” Brock purposefully ignored the impressive stink eye tossed his way while crossing his arms and nudging his head towards the open spaced kitchen. “I have a feeling you'll need something.”

“Fuck me.”

“Fuck me yourself, you coward.”

That satisfied smile that irked more than one superior officer was tossed his way and damnit Jack Rollins was not going to pout and stamp his feet. He was a grown ass man who had the luck of something to have been partnered with this bozo decades ago.

“Whinging, bastard.”

“I love you, too.”

~~~

When Darcy returned from the bedroom she found both her husband and Jack sitting on the modern monstrosity that was the couch. Well, it would be far more accurate to say that Brock was sprawled across the plush leather, one leg curled on the cushion, ankle on the opposite leg, his body tilted toward his friend and having a good line of sight to the door she just exited.

Jack Rollins however, was perched on the edge of the seat, elbows to his knees, the worst posture she’d ever seen on an agent outside of Barton; a beer dangling forgotten and loose in his hand and was facing towards her, eyes snapping into focus and widening a fraction once he consciously registered her presence.

She gave a tug to the far too large sweater she had absconded with, wishing that she would have also grabbed a pair of Brock’s sweatpants instead of just slipping the sweater over her dress. While in Brock’s bedroom – another one! – she did in fact couldn’t resist taking a running jump to bounce on his bed and ruck up the tight sheets and blankets. She did take a petty sort of joy in knowing how much the disorder would bother him, especially when she had tossed his pillows in odd lumps surrounding her.

As she lay there, contemplating the feel of the mattress and blankets beneath her, she thought it may be biased, but she preferred Brock’s bed back on Circe’s island, this room in the Tower was so … sterile. Lifeless. He had not changed out the standard furniture some designer nerd had furnished all the living quarters with. It was obvious that he never took the time to personalize the space past the basics. That and installing a very nice magical wardrobe that while it didn’t go to Narnia (boo), but a rather impressive mini armory.

Basic magic user her ass!

The lying liar that lies could do more than just create a tiny flame or a light orb. She was so getting him back for that! This whole wardrobe reeked of his personal magic and she would have to get her revenge somehow.

Maybe his credit card could meet lingerie and candles.

She had quickly rummaged through his wardrobe to shake off those depressing thoughts, and decided on a long sleeved black sweater because it felt unbelievably soft and smelled like her husband. Not that she would ever admit it, even if she had taken the time to bring the fabric to her nose and just close her eyes and breathe in the musk and spice and faint hint of leather, steel, and the sharp stench of gun smoke she associated with Brock.

Strolling farther into the living room she placed the throw blanket she had brought along with her on the back of the couch and leaned down to sling her arms around Brock's neck, nuzzling his cheek softly. The prickle of his stubble on her lips was fast becoming one of her favorite sensations.

“How much have you told him already?” she questions; since the conversation seemed to have stopped at her return; looking up to peek at Jack curiously, who was still kind of staring at her. Not in a creepy way but in obvious fascination and as if he were trying to dissect her.

It was very close to pure Agent Rollins and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“He just explained that he's a demigod,” Jack tells her his eyes traveling over her form intensely. “You know that you glow right?”

Her eyebrows shot up and she looked at Brock inquiry.

“I gave him a potion that lifted the veil, he now has the ability to see through most of the basic glamours. It was the easiest way to prove some things.” Brock shrugged, arms shooting up and grasping her firmly he pulled her over the back of the couch. She squeaked in surprise and landed in his lap while he grinned down at her, teeth a little sharper than usual. “I haven't told him about you yet.”

“He’s got fangs. And red eyes to go along with his vicious streak,” Jack grumbled and Darcy couldn’t stop her howl of laughter. Both men stared at her as she started to cry.

“At least he can’t be taken out with a Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch,” she snort-laughed, almost choking on her own spit.

“Baby, I am a fucking wolf, not some hippity hop bunny,” Brock groused, growling at his squirming wife. She laughed harder when she realized with glee her very serious husband got the reference.

“I think you’d get to any attackers before the count of three,” she wheezed and even Jack had to crack a smile.

“Only if they jump to five, darl’,” he grinned, tugging at the knife scar across his cheeks.

Finally, the weird tension that had gripped the two men seemed to dissipate and Darcy relaxed.

“So, there’s more to you than just your ability to tame Avengers and other hero types?” Jack asked, tilting his head.

“Ah, well maybe you should let go of me and explain,” Darcy suggested to her husband smiling, reaching up to tap his nose which made him growl at her a little.

Brock easily pulled her up farther so she sat fully in his lap, his other hand reaching out to grab the throw blanket she had brought and placed it over her feet. With a content sigh she arranged the blanket around her until she was pleased and cuddled up against him, before once again peeking at Jack who was studying them with curiosity clearly written on his face.

For a man who’s much scarred face made people wet themselves and had a very good Murder Face Vibe, he was doing an awfully good impersonation of a puppy barely holding itself in check. All that was missing would be a tail, and Darcy was willing to bet it would be fanning the air like Spot’s when he was chewing his favorite ghoul.

“Do you want something else to drink, or something to snack?” she inquired taking note of his opened beer but the lack of snack's on the coffee table. As an admitted nurturer, it hurt part of her soul not to have snacks on hand for guests.

Oh, her husband would need to get used to snacks. Snacks and candles, and cookies, and cupcakes, and a whole lot of other things. It didn’t even occur to her that she had no idea if Brock even had any of the aforementioned offerings. If she had to go up to her apartment and fix something she would.

“Nah, that's fine doll.” Jack told her lips quirking into a pleased smile. “Ya stay comfortable in your blanket fort.”

“Blanket fort,” Brock grunted, rolling his eyes heavenward.

“Hmm,” she hummed and wiggled a little more in Brock's lap. “Cozy. Fort Rumlow.”

Brock groaned a little, eyes flaming crimson and arms capturing her in a tighter hold to stop her movement. He couldn’t help it, it was a natural reaction! Jack just laughed at him loud and heartily, and perhaps a bit hysterically – willfully choosing and actively ignoring his brother who tipped his head down to engage a heated kiss with the the woman in his lap.

Once he had recovered from his laughter he met Brock's gaze and his brother continued to tell him about the Olympian gods being real and that his father was Ares, god of war, of all people.

“Jack, are you even listening?” Brock asked him when his gaze drifted to Darcy who was still cozily cuddled against Brock's side.

“Yep,” he popped the p a little. “I was listening: Olympian gods are real, and you’re _a_ son of _the god of war_. We got Thor, a sort of confirmed Nordic god of Thunder living in this Tower so it doesn't sound _that_ unrealistic. I'm patiently waiting how this all has to do with this,” he gestured around a little, wiggling his fingers.

“You're distracted.” Brock grunted, annoyed, and Jack's gaze finally snapped from Darcy's fingertips to Brock.

“It's the glowing, mate!” Jack gestured wildly, gaze meeting Darcy's. “Sorry darl', that's kind of distracting.”

Darcy smiled at him shyly. “It's alright; I can try to use a heavier glamour in the future.”

“Nah, don't do that. It's pretty. Also you got the tiniest feet like ever.” Jack was gesturing once more, finger jerking towards her feet which she arched, and the blanket and skirt of her dress slipping away a little to reveal some glimpses of pale skin. “And really hot calves.”

“My feet?” a sly smile found its way onto her face and she wiggled one foot farther out from underneath the throw blanket which made Jack's face lighten up in delight when she wiggled her toes at him. Giggling she asked in a teasing voice. “You got a foot fetish Jack?”

“I definitely do, just look at them mate, they are so tiny,” Jack was clearly completely besotted, trailing off while he marveled at her foot, his fingers trailing the form of her foot in the air. “And they glow.”

“Jack,” Brock snapped his fingers irritated. “Focus!” he demanded. “Stop touching my wife, and for Gaia's sake stop ogling her.”

“Oh come on Brock,” Darcy chided softly. “I think it’s sweet and I'm not bothered.” she hummed amused. “I got hot calves.”

“He’s reacting like every true mortal in the face of the Divine’s magic; besotted. Tone down the divinity, sweetheart.” Brock huffed in jealousy, a small growl escaping him and she squeezed his thigh reassuringly which seemed to calm him down a little. Mouth wide in a genuine smile she bats her eyes at him and moved a hand to cup his cheek.

“Yes, come on Brock,” Jack teased him. “She obviously doesn't mind me ogling her feet and you can't kink shame me,” he wiggled a finger at his brother slash boss. “I've seen her neck man, you've gone full vampire novel on her. The damn sparkly ones that don’t make sense.”

“He did!” Darcy grinned at Brock mischievously and winked. “I'm silently calling him Count Count.”

Jack burst out laughing at Brock's offended expression.

“You're calling me what?” Brock sputtered. He wondered if they all didn’t have a bit of hysteria going on. He was almost one hundred percent positive Darcy was experiencing a magical sort of jet lag, along with the whiplash of the slight power boost even he got at being in the presence of so many fully Divine gods and goddesses. That and the obvious high that came from being worshipped of sorts by a mortal who was in the know. The bit about the gods gaining power from those who pray or acknowledge them was true to a certain extent. Seems it was working on Darcy, and she and Jack were feeding off each other, getting magic drunk. He’d have to try and rein it in here in a bit before it went from cute and harmless, to something all of them would regret later.

Darcy would hate that she would be affecting someone she cared for likes this; Jack would hate it once the high of a goddesses presence faded and the cool as ice agent reasoning began to reassert itself. He, like Brock and all the other agents, had a well founded and honed in paranoia. The betrayal of Hydra in their midst, what they had to go through with their ‘handlers’ while undercover, what they were forced to do and the gaslighting and manipulation and blackmail of agents to do what Hydra wanted … that kind of shit stays with a man, demigod or no. Not to mention the whole fiasco with Barnes and Loki going after Barton.

Mind fuckery of any sort was not cool.

No, Jack would not be pleased at this magical manipulation and euphoria; even if it was innocent and very unintentional on Darcy’s part. Honestly, she probably never even had to deal with it when she was Divine, having been so young and not a known Deity.

Darcy twisted a little in his lap, bringing his thoughts back into the here and now, and moved her arms around his neck to pull herself up against him, her chest pressed against him and her lips brushed his. “Don't worry, he was my favorite Muppet.”

“I am a warrior, a son of Ares. There is nothing Muppet about me,” he grumbled, still smarting.

Darcy giggled and applied more pressure, deepening that brush into a true kiss. Brock smirked against her lips and moved one hand to the back of her neck, fingers curling into her locks and holding her in place, his mouth coaxed hers to play. First with a few tender nibbles to her bottom lip, then long suckles and licks before he claimed her lips and mouth in a more demanding carnal way.

His canines may have fanged out and he chased the coppery taint with just as much fervor, chest rumbling, pleased.

Jack was laughing loudly and slapping his thighs in amusement, waiting patiently for their kiss to break before he spoke up again.

“You know, we were undercover as a gay couple once and he refused to let me paint his toenails.”

Darcy choked on a laugh and turned curious eyes onto Brock before returning to Jack. “Really?”

“Oh yes, I was the femme, I had pretty wigs, and I thought I did a great job if I do say so myself. It was hilarious to watch Resources try to find a dress that would fit me. And the shoes!” Jack laughed gleefully. “Oh god the shoes. They had to import them from Russia or something. Fetish wear I think,” he waggled his eyebrows comically to make Darcy laugh again.

Brock groaned loudly, mumbling under his breath before glaring at his brother in all but blood.

“Jack, honey, focus I'm kind of trying to explain important things here,” He mocked.

“Uh huh, I'm not the one with my tongue down her throat.” Jack stuck out his own tongue and Brock knew things were getting out of hand.

“I’d rip it out if it were.”

He wasn’t joking. Even now, the lava of possessive rage he fought against all his life, scalded in his veins.

Darcy was his damn it.

No one was touching her, or sticking their tongues down her throat.

“Hush you,” Darcy rolled her eyes, and Jack nodded his head towards them with a smirk on his lips before mouthing at Darcy “I'll tell you later.”

“You know I can see and hear you, right?”

“Obviously, Mr. Half-War God.” Jack winked at him before leaning back on the couch once more, the longneck of his beer dangling from his tapered fingers. “So start with the adventure stuff, all those god names makes my head spin.”

“Ours, too, and we have to live with it,” Brock rubbed his temples in exasperation while Darcy giggled into his neck. Sighing, he continued to debrief his shield brother on the pertinent bits.

“So, Darcy wasn’t really abducted in the normal sense…”

~~~

“Inconceivable,” Jack gawked at them later, dragging a hand down his face when Brock reached the point of the story where he had defeated the Hydra and Hades appeared.

“You're an Underworld princess?! Daughter of the God of Dead?!” he squeaked a little, and Brock was fascinated at how pale the other man had become.

“Yes. Don't tell me you're afraid of ghosts?” Darcy shrugged and batted her eyes at him innocently.

“I'm absolutely not!” Jack insisted in a way that told Brock otherwise. “Wait, they can't possess or murder me like in movies, right?”

The serious look of contemplation on his friends’ face would have been hilarious if Brock didn’t get the idea that this was a legitimate issue bothering him. Interesting. He had never known Jack to have that kind of phobia.

Hopefully it was the euphoria breaking and his rational mind kicking in.

Brock would never admit to the cold feeling that ran down his spine at that evil little smile that started out softly at the corners of his wife’s lips. The final product was an odd amalgamation of smirk, sneer, pride, and gleeful fondness.

“Ya got to be shitting me! “Jack blanched, truly recoiling and it seemed to wipe whatever had gripped Darcy away. And there, Brock thought, was the crash from the magical sugar high.

“But back to the story. You can't seriously be telling me that Hades appeared and then just let you walk out of the Underworld with his daughter?! There has to be more to this.” Jack was almost shrieking at this point, waving a finger accusingly at Brock.

It was impossible to miss the flash of guilt passing over Brock's features or the way Darcy immediately cast her eyes downward, fingernails digging into Brock's shirt while she was still wrapped in his arms and becoming eerily still.

The still of the grave, Jack thought morbidly trying to wrap his head around the information overload.

Up until now those two were impossibly cuddly, it was almost cheesy and disgusting in an overdone trope way, but Jack was happy for his brother. He had never seen him that genuinely interested in any female before, or even any of the men that sometimes vied for the former STRIKE commander’s regard. Now though, he felt like he had said the wrong thing, the worst thing he could have said and it was gnawing at his nerves.

The story Brock had told so far was amazing. He would never have believed it if anyone else had told it. There were more gods that just the Norse ones they had encountered so far. And they were still alive and kicking, they even had demigod children with humans every now and then, just like in that one movie. Both Brock and Darcy were children of gods so it made kind of sense that they would have been so drawn to each other.

And why Brock seemed to be so carefree. He didn’t have to hide anything from Darcy, Jack realized, because the unwritten rule of their culture didn’t apply to themselves so they could in fact be free to literally be themselves. The entirety of themselves, not just the human bits.

“I did something stupid,” Brock admitted after a while, voice unreadable, but his jaw was clenched and his eyes refused to look at Darcy. “I evoked a Favor that Zeus and the other two who made up the Big Three owed to me and used it to force Hades to give me Darcy as a bride through the Rites of Acquisition.”

Jack didn’t like that Favor seemed to have a capital and all the bullshit complications that came with a Favor owed by the gods. Much less one that forced the _bloody_ _freaking GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD_ to yield his only daughter in what sounded like an unexpected and unwanted marriage of convenient contrition.

The phrase Rites of Acquisition didn’t sound promising either.

Brock still met his gaze head on.

“I then used one of my mother's potions to get us out of the Underworld.”

Jack stared at him for a while before he spoke up again.

“That sounds like some stupid shit to pull.” he comments dryly. “I assume that is some high magic mumbo jumbo and Hades had to let you go?”

“Yes,” Brock agreed in a graveled tone. “At that moment it was the only way I saw that I could rightfully take Darcy with me, keep her safe from him in the future, and escape the Underworld unscathed.” he squeezed Darcy's hand and pushed one finger underneath her chin to make her look at him. “I realized pretty soon I fucked up.”

“Yeah,” she agreed a little breathy. “You did,” she affirmed with a nod and a sly smile, her voice teasing. “And I forgave you for being a stupid asshole, didn't I?”

“Your stupid asshole.” he reminded her gently. There was no denying the affection between the pair, and more tellingly how invested Brock was with his …. Shit,

Wife.

Darcy Lewis was Brock Rumlow’s ill-gotten war prize wife.

The mother fucking DAUGHTER of HADES AND PERSEPHONE.

The adopted sister, best friend, wrangler, and formerly-intern-turned-Lab Manager-platonic life partner of one Doctor Jane Foster, astrophysicist.

She who is tiny but fierce and packs a mean left hook when her focus turned planet side and honed in on the conversations around her.

The adopted sister of Thor and oh my gosh that meant she’s an Asgardian royal. Even if it were just in name only but the way Thor reacted …might not be such an honorific but an actual title.

Shit.

The Black Widow’s unofficial protégé.

The Hulk’s yoga partner; Hawkeye’s mischief partner.

Tony Stark, the man of Iron himself, got weirdly territorial. The spat between Stark and Foster over “Lewis Rights” was already the stuff of legends. Poor Banner had to toss himself in the Hulk Room before he hulked out.

He couldn’t be sure, but he thought that at some point Captain freaking America and the gods-be-damned Winter fucking Soldier were going to or attempting to woo her at some point.

Which could explain the unspoken Cold War between the two War Relics and Rumlow who loved to antagonize them on a good day _before_ having accepted the position at the Tower.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph and all the dead prophets in between.

Darcy Lewis was Brock Rumlow’s _WIFE_!!

“Continue with the story please, because right now it sounds like I should be hitting you, demigod or not.” Jack rolled his eyes at them, fingers twitching a little, the only sign that showed how furious he really was. “You know, for the whole using magic to get someone to fucking marry you?!”

“Fair enough.” Brock agreed, knowing just why that part of the story was hitting Jack so hard. It was also the reason he had been hesitant to go into detail but he knew he had to. To his surprise Darcy picked up the narrative.

~~~

“I could still hit him for you?” Jack offered almost two hours and two beers [one more each for the men] and one sparkling water (where the heck did that come from Brock? Don’t you tell me you had Darcy’s favorite drink on hand for nothing, I see you) later.

The newlywed pair had switched a few times during their retelling, silently having come to the agreement to leave Loki out of the telling for everyone's peace of mind.

“Nah, I think we're good.” Darcy waved him off amused. “Besides I think he might enjoy that.”

At that Jack burst out laughing once more while Brock pouted a playfully offended,“Hey!”

“So,” Darcy turned to smile up at Brock once more. “You promised that we'd call my dad first thing,” she reminded him softly. “We should really do that.”

“I did, didn't I?” Brock grimaced. “I guess we better call, I kind of don't want to find out what your father can come up with, he seemed pretty angry.”

That was an understatement.

“That is the understatement of the century.” Darcy snorted a little, unknowingly parroting her husband’s thoughts. She turned to look at Jack and scrunched her nose in thought. “You should better go. My father will be furious enough with Brock. I think a random mortal would make it even worse.” she winced a little. “No offense.”

Jack shook his head, face a little paler than usual for the second time that night.

“None taken, Darcy darl’. Game of Thrones totally had the right of it with the whole, “Not today” bit. I think I'd rather not meet the God of the Dead. No offense either.” he mumbled. “Good luck mate!”

Brock snorted while Jack hastily rose to his feet and booked it toward his shoes by the door.  
“I think luck is not going to cut it.”

Jack meanwhile waved an arm in their direction. “Yeah, you kind of deserve it though.” he seemed rather unconcerned for Brock's well being. “You'll tell me if he gets his ass handed to him, right Darcy-doll?”

“Sure thing Jack. I might take pictures!” she giggled and beamed at him.

She really did like Jack. It was really too bad he was mortal and she met Brock first. On the other hand…she eyes her husband’s form appreciatively, tongue darting out to wet her lips.

“Traitors,” Brock grumbled. “The lot of you.”

He had caught that little flicker of tongue.

Jack needed to go; he loved his brother in arms but he needed to go.

Now would be great.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Darcy cooed before claiming his lips with hers as Jack slipped away.

The door shut with nary a whisper or acknowledgment as the newlyweds lost themselves with each other.

Brock’s bed in the Tower remained cold and rumpled that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love and hugs for my cowriter! [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay) Thank you so much!
> 
> Once again:  
> We apologize to any Australians who read this. Our knowledge of how you talk is extremely limited and most likely inaccurate.  
> If you have any cool Australian Slang words leave them in the comments.
> 
> In reasearch I stumbled across Shark biscuit – kids at the beach 😁😁😁


	28. Real Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to my cowriter [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> She did put a lot of work and love into this chapter and the whole last part was written by her.
> 
> We apologize for the long wait, life happened.

“You really want to do this now?”

He tried not to sound petulant but there was no getting around it.

Brock's arms found themselves winding about his wife’s bare waist and pulled her flush against his front as she attempted to comb out her hair. They had jumped into the shower earlier and Darcy insisted on calling her father first thing after breakfast. As curly as her hair was, Brock didn’t think that it needed more than to run a pick through it and let the curls run wild. His own dark locks had a tendency to add a bit of curl when it was too long. Speaking of, he might want to look into getting his hair cut again.

Darcy shivered as his thumbs swirled against the smooth expanse of her curved belly, fingers caressing in little swaths. Her earlier commentary that she wasn’t flat bellied like certain other women had been met with a scoff; he seemed fascinated with her little pooch despite her protests of embarrassment.

“Well not _now_ , now,” she pushed his arms away a little to finish combing out her hair. She hoped it wouldn’t frizz but had a feeling she might need a hair tie handy for later on. “I'll ask J.A.R.V.I.S to bring me some clothes and things from my apartment but we should definitely do it right afterwards.” she hummed thoughtfully, turning to meet his gaze since the mirror was too foggy to see anything.

The comb was placed on the side of the sink after she tossed the entangled hair in the garbage, the plastic giving a soft clatter and she ran her newly freed fingers to trail up his chest.

“You promised me,” she reminded gently. “Please Brock, no more changing the subject or distracting me.”

“Hmm,” Brock agreed with a hum while his fingers traveled over her forearm and gently captured her wrist. “No more distracting. I promise, we'll call your father after breakfast.” he agreed his gaze studying her nails with great interest. “But maybe mind telling me what you did with my back earlier?”

Darcy flushed a bright red and lowered her gaze, squeaking a soft “Sorry.”

“I'm not complaining baby.” he purred at her, the smirk clear in his voice. “I'm sure you didn't hear me complain, did you? In fact I quite enjoyed myself.”

Her blush darkened and her head lifted almost shyly those sparkling blue eyes peering at him.

“I don't know, ever since He Who Shall Not Be Named the Douche on the Throne,” she practically spat that moniker. “Used my lightning on Olympus I've been feeling, well, strange I guess.” Darcy looked at him thoughtfully before turning her gaze upon her own fingertips. “And then Jack acknowledges me as a goddess just like that; I think you might be right that his appreciation of my form bordered to worshiping.”

With that softly spoken confession her dainty fingernails turned into vicious looking silvery claws. They were short and petite, the points themselves not too much longer than some acrylics he’d seen, with just the slightest curve at the tip. Anyone who got too close would find out that appearances could be deceiving if they thought those bad boys were just showpieces.

Brock's tongue darted out to wet his lips, so what if it wasn't exactly 'normal' to feel aroused by the sight of those sharp little claws, sue him, in his opinion it made his wife even hotter. He certainly didn’t mind a little pain with his pleasure; in the right circumstances it only enhanced the experience.

At least now he knew she could cut up anyone who tried anything, his kitty literally had claws. He wondered if she would blush her delightful little blush again if he asked her to use them again next time. She was so open about everything but sometimes, especially if it had to do something with her 'not mortal' abilities, she got shy like a little kitten.

_Kitten my ass; she’s a freaking panther._

“Darcy,” Brock hummed. “Jack almost drooled on your foot,” he grumbled, annoyed eyes flashing a rusty red before he growled out. “He's my oldest friend but Gaia, Darcy; I almost ripped his fingers off. And his tongue. Possibly his dick.”

Using his hold on her wrist he pulled her flush against him, his hand let go of her wrist and instead he gripped her around her waist, lifting her to sit on the sink in front of him in one fluid move.

 _As if she weighted nothing at all_ , Darcy flushed even more. Brock's thoughtless use of his strength was just so damn hot. She gulped softly and wrapped her legs around his waist willingly.

“I don't share,” he informed her, gaze blazing and direct. “Least of all you.” he grounds out, rutting against her for a brief moment. “You're mine,” he purred against her. “And I'll kill any male who thinks otherwise.”

“I'll rip off whatever fucking appendage touches you. Gleefully.” there was a murderous glint in his eyes. “I don't want anyone but me touching you.”

Darcy shivered at his freely admitted claim on her, knowing he meant every single word of it and despite her love for him she could weep at the moment. “Brock,” she stuttered out, another light shiver running through her.

“Please,” her tone seemed to snap him out of whatever jealous frenzy he was in. “Don't do this to me Brock.” she didn't care at the moment, she loved him but she wouldn't stand for him to take away her choice to touch people. “Please don't _order_ me not to touch anyone,” she gulped a little noticing a flash of, was that hurt or surprise, crossing his features. “I don't think I could bear that.”

When he looked like he was about to interrupt her she pushed a finger to his lips softly; the fact her hand was trembling ever so slightly kept his silence.

“I love you,” she confessed. “But I love my family too and that includes all of the Avengers. Don't make me hold back my hugs and cuddles with the guys.” she took a little breath. “I don't want to fear your wrath or that you will maul them when I hug someone. Please.”

“Darcy, I didn't mean it like an _order_.” he groaned out and she winced at his tone, refusing to meet his gaze.

Sighing heavily he moved his arms around her. “I love you too,” his voice took on a softer tone and she did look up to meet his crimson gaze at his open confession of love, he placed a single tender kiss onto her lips. “And I would _never_ order you to do anything you don't wish to do.” he sighed clearly agitated. “And it fucking _hurts_ me when you assume the worst of me. I may be my father’s son _but I am not my father_! I love you Darcy, damn it.”

He tried to pull away in frustration but he was caught in her legs, and Darcy used them to squeeze him back in place, arms reaching for his shoulders. One of her palms directed his face back to her, mindful of her claws, and used her thumb to smooth gently against the stubble he’d trimmed earlier.

“Oh, Brock, I love you, too, and I'm sorry,” Darcy murmured against his lips. “I didn't meant to hurt you, but you can't remind me that I'm _yours_ like _that_ and then tell me you'll rip off people’s appendages if they touch me or kill them and expect me to react well to it.”

She slung her arms around his neck and buried her head in his neck.

“No, probably not.” he agreed with a small possessive rumble she could feel against her chest, his arms tightening around her. “But I still don't need to like it and you're still _mine_.”

He nibbled at her neck again and she giggled softly.

“All yours.” she agreed a little breathy, eyes closing, and her fingers flexing just so.

“Hmm,” he hummed and rolled his hips against her once more, murmuring teasingly. “I don’t think you get it, not really. Maybe you need a reminder of that?”

“Brock!”

~~~

It was still early morning and Natasha left the gym in a huff. Not even Yoga had managed to clear her head and she was tense enough she was going to snap at the least provocation.

Jane had been rather informative, even if the scientist didn't realize it.

 _Magic_.

The astrophysicist had unknowingly confirmed her suspicion.

And didn’t that just suck?

She never thought she’d long for the days when the problem at hand was a nuclear bomb, or some old white fascist on a power trip. At this point, Doctor Doom or Magneto would seem like a walk in the park. Magic didn’t follow any rules but its own, and even then, it took generous liberties and side quests.

There was just no _order_ to the chaos magic inherently was.

Natasha was just contemplating if she should return to the gym and try Steve and Yasha’s go-to therapy and beat the дерьмо out of a heavy bag when a whistling reached her ears, a funny little tune she couldn't place.

Jack Rollins had just come strolling around the corner, a little skip in his step and a happy tune on his lips.

“Good morning,” she greeted casually, warily assessing his form. “You seem in a chipper mood?”

Something wasn’t adding up.

“Yep,” Rollins agreed but didn't future elaborate. He was dressed down in a comfy looking pair of sweatpants, a white crewneck t-shirt, and some trainers. The relaxed and almost pleasant air about him was…disturbing.

Jack Rollins.

The man who’s best friend and immediate boss was missing.

Jack Rollins who’d gotten as pissed and irritable as the rest of the Avengers and lab staff the longer Rumlow and Darcy were missing; who’d been pouring over video feeds of the day of the attack for hours, making calls to contacts mutual to him and Rumlow on the off chance someone might have heard or known something. Who stepped in as second in command to take charge over the security detail in addition to looking for his friend.

Jack Rollins who had went toe to toe against Clint and Tony and had come perilously close to losing that famous cool.

Who did lose it with one of the [idiot] security staff who started mouthing off at how it was good riddance to get rid of the Hydra scumbag and his groupie whore.

She may or may not have extracted some of her own vengeance for that slur against Darcy. Yasha helped her hide the body. Bruce and Steve made sure he was still alive. Clint was following up with some truly repulsive pranks that teetered off appropriate and merrily skipped over any moral line, and Tony and J.A.R.V.I.S made any bureaucratic nonsense disappear.

But Jack Rollins … He was smiling.

He was _relaxed_.

Almost a whole week of silence and he practically was skipping on the way to his workout.

Suspicious didn’t even cover it.

She watched him head into the gym with narrowed eyes.

~~~

Brock watched the ghostly form of a tall, thin blond haired butler that looked remarkably too much like that _A Knight’s Tale_ actor Paul Bettany disappear through a wall and a slight shiver went up his back.

“Seriously, babe,” he commented dryly, fangs threatening to erupt in his agitation, but he locked that down. “That wasn't what I expected when you said ' _let me ask J.A.R.V.I.S'_.”

His thumb caressed the pommel and tang of one of his larger blades on his thigh holster, staring at the spot the spirit had been just seconds ago.

Darcy turned her gaze from the wall the specter had disappeared into to face him, her blue eyes still holding an unsettling neon cyan blue hue that reminded him strongly of her father every time there was an occasion for it. “I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, should I warn you next time?”

There was a little wry smile on her full lips and barely contained amusement honeying in her tone.

Sassy pants.

“No,” he grumbled, folding his arms. He might have flexed a bit more when her eyes focused on his biceps before continuing, “Since I now know that the house A.I. apparently hast a _ghost form_. You know, after the fact when you should have told me _before_ he appeared like Stark’s bad holograms?”

“It's not a _ghost form_ ,” she chided with a giggle. “J.A.R.V.I.S is just so smart, compassionate and advanced that he gained a soul of his own and I kind of just stumbled across him one day.”

Her right shoulder rose partially as she shrugged in a cute motion.

“You _stumbled_ across his _soul_ one day?”

What the Hel?

Of course his wife would roll her eyes and ignore him.

“So I boosted him a little and we figured out pretty quickly that since he didn't have a body _per se_ , he could do all the stuff other souls can do when they leave a body. Except that he isn't dead yet so Thanatos kind of ignores him.”

What did she mean _“do all the stuff other souls can do when they leave a body”?_

Brock's left eye twitched a little. “And just how often does Thanatos stroll through here?”

 _Hades_ was bad enough.

And he was _only_ the _Lord of the Underworld._

He wasn’t Death himself.

“Well, every time someone is close to dying, obviously,” she rolled her eyes and he snorted as she continued, “He's not particularly fond of the Avengers since they tend to get into near death situations a lot without actually, you know, dying.”

“How awful of them,” Brock had to remind himself that Darcy viewed both Death and the death of someone completely different than any other living creature, apart from her family and maybe the TV show Addams Family. “Really…” Brock drawled with a brow cocked in askance.

“Well, wouldn’t you be irritated if you kept making what amounts to multiple house calls to someone’s physical abode, expecting to welcome them to the Other Side, only for them to back off at the last second? And have to keep coming back over and over and over and …”

“I think I get the point,” [he really didn’t but might as well go with it] it was Brock’s turn to roll his eyes, sighing, and he rubbed a thumb against the bridge of his nose to try and ward off a headache. “Let’s just get this call to your dad over with, yeah?”

“But, but….my _clothes_!” she stuttered, inwardly wincing at how shrill she spoke that last word.

She was not pouting.

Nor was she whining.

Yes she was.

“What’s wrong with what you’re wearing now?” His eyes raked over from messy curls to the cute pink polish on her bare toes. “You look more than fine to me.”

“You jerk!” she laughed, blushing prettily and trying not to stare at the tip of his tongue peeping over his bottom lip as he met her eyes with a smirk and a wink.

“Besides,” she continued, grinning at him with a twinkle in her now sapphire blue eyes. “I really think it is wise if I wear some of my own clothes and not your oversized sweater sans panties when we call my dad.” she wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“Believe me, my dad wouldn't be amused and I better hide at least some of the hickies.”

It took more willpower than she wanted to admit not to cross her legs at the ankles as she reminded herself that she was wearing only her husband’s sweater … and nothing else. Well, other than hickies and other love marks.

Hades would just love that look.

She would be a widow faster than she could say _cannoli_.

“I have no doubt about that, but I was thinking more along the lines of one of Stark's robots bringing you stuff and not the freaking soul of an A.I.!” he grumbled, arms crossing again [he switched which arms were over and under okay!?] and muscles flexing. “No offense, J.A.R.V.I.S.”

_Just to be sure he was where he was supposed to be…in the walls and ceiling?_

“None taken, Commander Rumlow. I am aware of just how unsettling humans tend to find the first interactions with me as a mere artificial intelligence. I have no doubt seeing my ‘soul form’ as Ms. Darcy calls it must be disturbing for the faint hearted.”

“Sassed by the house-ghost…great!” Brock rolled his eyes skywards and was sure if the soul of J.A.R.V.I.S had been here he would have had a British bland smile on his face.

Smug bastard, but what did he expect by a Stark created artificial intelligence? No doubt Hephaestus had blessed that creation, if J.A.R.V.I.S was able to gain his own soul it must have been that way, right? On a second thought, Stark was crazy enough to pull something like this off while deadass drunk. Maybe Dionysus was involved? Who knew?

“Don't be that way,” Darcy smiled before she turned her head towards the ceiling. “J.A.R.V.I.S is my friend so he is allowed all the sass. Aren't you buddy?”

J.A.R.V.I.S’ speakers cracked a little before he answered in a fond voice. “Verily, Princess.”

Brock rubbed his temples; did he need to worry about an A.I. now?

Probably.

How did one kill an incorporeal … _intelligence_? He was literally everywhere in the Tower, anywhere Stark let him roam, really.

Was there some secret weapon he could wield?

How many people, old friends, things, gods, and what the fuck ever were going to fawn all over his wife? Darcy just had a way of charming everyone she met.

“Oh J.A.R.V.I.S, can you please also bring me some baking supplies?” she suddenly quipped, eyes lighting up with a matching manic grin, and he could imagine a cartoon light bulb going off over her head. “We're going to need cookies,” she mused. “To assuage some tempers.” Darcy tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Chocolate Chip one's. I'm going to need flour, sugar, eggs, butter, chocolate ...”

J.A.R.V.I.S interrupted her halfway through the ingredient list, sounding amused. “I'll bring all ingredients you usually order for a baking frenzy.”

“You're the best J.”

“I try,” was the smug answer and she giggled softly while Brock groaned at their banter.

Freaking Hel on a lance! A freaking A.I. with a soul and it was bantering with his wife!

He would almost take Loki after this.

“Shall I also bring your lingerie?” J.A.R.V.I.S questioned, almost sounding innocent.

Fuck no, he was building a secret weapon to destroy Stark’s genius child.

“The hell you are,” Brock growled, eyes and fangs bared at the offense of the ghost-soul-whatever touching _his_ wife’s intimates.

“J.A.R.V.I.S!” Darcy gasped turning a lovely shade of red.

A screaming, feral part of Brock was assuaged at the indignation in her tone, and it anchored him long enough to find some humor in the situation.

Brock smirked at her, chuckling softly while J.A.R.V.I.S promptly answered. “I apologize, but you know how Sir is and he _did_ program my base code.”

Darcy groaned. “Don't remind me! Please!”

“Remind her all you want J.A.R.V.I.S,” Brock smirked downright suggestive, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “Just bring it all.”

Her gasped “Brock!” was accompanied by J.A.R.V.I.S calm “Very well, Commander.”

Brock held out his arm and gestured for her to sit by him. “Come, you can fuss later.”

There was something in his tone that told her he wanted her close so she didn't hesitate to approach him and allow herself be wrapped in an embrace. Those muscular arms closing around her and pulling her down with him as he sat on the couch.

Darcy eagerly nuzzled against him, breathing in his comforting scent. “You're still angry with me aren't you?”

Her tongue flicked out to taste the salty tinge of his skin and it was _so good_. She didn’t know when she had become so orally fixated.

Brock hummed but it sounded neither affirming nor negating. “Yes and no,” he told her, returning the favor of nuzzling her neck, this time without teeth. “It hurt me that you automatically assumed I was referring to you as my _possession_ , because we both know that is _not_ how I meant it.”

She was about to speak up and apologize once more when he hushed her by pushing a finger over her lips.

“Hush, let me finish.” he chided her. “On the other hand I'm also angry at myself,” he let out an exasperated sigh against her neck. “I've meant every word when I told you I would rip out Jack's tongue if he kissed you and I would probably do worse to anyone else. I am the son of the God of War, Darcy love. There is a need made of blood and death, to conquer and own written in the marrow of my bones. It is not unreasonable for me to feel those things. Any ‘ _civilized_ ’ man still feels that primal need from time to time. Though I can try and be better, I cannot change who I am or how I feel.”

The muscles of the arms wrapped around her tensed and she moved her fingers over them in an attempt to soothe him. “I realize how frightening that must sound, how _barbaric_.” he practically spat the last word. “Shit, Darcy,” he cursed hotly. “I've always been a possessive asshole but with you. _Gaia_! I think I would kill for you and light both this world and Olympus with Hellfire without batting an eye and that frightens me,” he admitted softly.

For a moment she was left speechless. “Brock,” her breath hitched, the hairs on the back of her neck raising at what he might be implying.

He shook his head against her neck vehemently. “I fought all my fucking life to get control over my vicious urges for bloodshed, shit, I admit that I really enjoyed my time as Crossbones but now?” he growled out. “Now I feel like I have no control at all when you're involved. I want you to be mine with every fiber of my being and just the thought of another male touching you makes my blood boil.”

She squeaked in surprise when she suddenly found herself sprawled out on the couch with Brock hovering above her, eyes a swirling red and was that? Was that a red aura cracking around him like angry lightning?

“Darcy,” he half growled and half rumbled at her, so deep that the vibrations sent shivers of anticipation through her whole body, which immediately reacted to the blatant desire of the alpha male above her.

 _Her_ alpha husband.

“My instincts fucking scream at me to take you in every fucking way and to hide you away on my mother's island forever, so that no other male may ever lay eyes upon you again.” he bent down farther above her, pressing himself against her.

They were now touching from hip to chest, and her legs had automatically widened to accommodate his larger form, thighs squeezing to encourage him closer.

Brock moved his head down to bring lips and teeth to her cheek and she readily bared her throat in submission while he moved languidly to nip and kiss along her cheek to the column of her neck.

“Do you know how fucking hard it is to resist those urges, when you respond to me so nicely?” he hummed at her, near breathless. “How hard it is to listen to reason?”

A hot tongue flickered across her skin and she buried her hands in the thick strands of hair, tugging his head deeper into her neck with a mewl of pleasure when he indulged her before continuing his ministrations.

“That's exactly what I'm talking about sweetheart,” he purred. “You're driving me insane.”

“You're one to talk,” she managed to gasp out when one of his hands traveled south, eyes rolling back in pleasured pain, squirming restlessly against those talented fingers. “Brock, J.A.R.V.I.S will be right back,” she might have moaned, sue her, “And we should call my dad, you promised. _Oh_!”

Right on cue J.A.R.V.I.S cleared his throat, standing with a suitcase and a few reusable tote bags of groceries by the wall quirking an eyebrow at them, an amused little smile on his face.

“I brought the lingerie but I see that isn’t exactly a requirement.”

~~~

Darcy was happily kneading cookie dough in his kitchen, wearing a cozy looking dove gray cable-knit sweater dress with a hoodie attached to it and bright purple leggings underneath.

Those leggings were dead threads walking.

His wife had taken one look at his face and cracked up laughing before declaring them her staunchest hero in the quest against his questing digits.

He didn’t care if it was obvious the only thing on his mind was how long until he was allowed to get his wife naked. Naked Darcy was just The Best Thing Ever™ and he was very put upon that he had to share her.

The things he put up with.

Although he was very amused that she had foregone the cute little black heeled ankle boots in favor of dancing barefoot in place. Every now and then she would swish around to music he could hear blaring from her earbuds and she would smile at him brightly before twirling around once more and continuing with the dough.

“I'll finish soon, then we'll call dad, this dough needs to freeze for a while.”

His wife had strange priorities, but it gave him the opportunity to observe her carefree baking and marvel at how much curves one could hide beneath a sweater dress. Sad on one hand but really satisfying on the other, because he knew what lay underneath and would be the only one who got to appreciate and unpack it.

Those stupid leggings could live to see another day, he mused.

He must have been in his thoughts longer than he meant to because she slipped into his lap all of sudden. She nuzzled against his side and announced. “I'm finished.”

Gently grasping her wrist he brought her fingers to his mouth and licked across them. “Tastes good,” he mused. “Is that butter? And something vanilla?”

“Yes, and lots of sugar,” she giggled at him and winked. “So I'm afraid it's not on the menu for you.”

“I can make an exception.” he purred at her. “I saw some Honey Dust in the suitcase J.A.R.V.I.S brought.”

“You. Are. Incorrigible.” she told him, poking his chest with every word and rolling her eyes even though she was smiling. After a while she cast her eyes downward as if something just occurred to her. “Brock,” her voice was hesitant and she bit her bottom lip in her annoyingly sexy habit that made him want to claim those lips as his each and every time she did it.

Which he did in fact indulge himself in, capturing those sweet tasting plush lips with his own, tasting the same sugar and vanilla he also had sampled from her fingers.

Someone had clearly tested the dough; smirking against her mouth he resisted the urge to nip her sensitive skin with fangs once more. His wife was clearly nervous in the way she hesitantly spoke his name and how her form was the tiniest bit stiff, something she hadn't been for what felt like forever while in his arms.

Gaia! Had it truly only been a few days since she had become his?

Brock hummed, knowing she wanted to say something and was waiting for him to acknowledge it. “Hmm?”

“I,” she started, her hand lying on his chest while she looked up at him from underneath her dark lashes. “I don't know how to start, how to tell you without you being hurt.” she confessed softly. “But it is important and I'm not meaning to hurt you, damn,” she cursed and broke off once more. “What I mean to say is that, well this is important and you need to know, you deserve to know before we call my dad.”

“Darcy,” he rumbled her name which made her look up once more. “You made your point sweetheart.” he smiled at her reassuringly. “I believe you when you tell me you don't want to hurt me, so,” he smirked a little now. “Just tell me and I'll try to act like an adult and not be offended, alright?”

He sounded so damn smug and teasing about it that she slapped his shoulder lightly.

“You asshole!”

He only laughed in answer and gently corrected. “Stupid asshole. Yours.”

She hit her forehead on his chest and giggled. “That makes me your bratty princess huh?” she laughed softly feeling his chest vibrate with his own chuckle. “Thank you for making me feel better.”

“Always.”

She smiled softly at yet another reference, this time a Harry Potter one. Her husband was a secretive nerd and it was the most adorable thing ever.

Putting a finger under her chin like he tended to do when she refused to meet his gaze, he brought her head up and pushed a brief kiss onto her forehead. “Tell me, hmm?”

“It's about the Favor.”

Darcy felt him tense underneath her fingertips and saw his jaw clenching. “You're right,” he grunted. “I'm not going to like this.”

For a short moment she closed her eyes before sighing heavily. “I love you, please keep that in mind.” she urged him, moving a hand to cup his chin and willing him to _understand_.

Her sapphire blue eyes seemed to look into his very soul, urging him to understand. “Brock, I'm just going to assume it was your father who taught you about the Rite of Acquisition?”

He nodded shortly in answer.

“Yeah I thought so,” she breathed a little and looked down at her own hands which rested against his chest. “It took me a while, to figure out you had no clue.” she told him, briefly meeting his gaze once more. “There is no easy way to tell this to you,” Darcy continued while Brock's arms wound around her back and stroke across her waist. “But what I told you that first night was true. I am your war trophy and if you wish it you can lay me down and take me, if I want it or not.”

“Hey now,” Brock interrupted her. “I thought we were past this,” he growled, anger clear in his voice and bearing, fangs peeking through lips that held a snarl. “We talked about this and I told you I would never force you. Gaia Darcy!” he snarled. “You can't keep throwing this at my feet!”

“Brock,” she tried to appease him. “That's not,” she huffed clearly irritated and frustrated before continuing. “I love you and I don't know how to break this to you in an easy way. Just listen, _please_.”

There was a tense silence between the two of them where his jaw clenched and unclenched a few times, fingers digging into her sides before easing up while she cupped his cheek and gave him a soft peck on the nose. “Alright.”

“Good, I think I made it clear that I'm alright with this.” she said while gesturing between the two of them. “That I'm _willingly_ yours.”

“Hmm,” he agreed, his fingers moving to stroke over those damned purple leggings until she grabbed his wrists and gently but firmly moved his hands back to her waist. _Interesting_ , he thought before he twisted his own hands a little to capture hers instead and nuzzle against one of her dainty wrists. “You did mention you love me a few times.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically but the soft smile playing around those plush lips betrayed her.

“You're still not getting it Brock,” her voice was a soft reprimand. “The Rite of Acquisition, it's such an old law, ancient even, and enforced with the Favor,” for the tiniest of moments she paused. “I truly meant it when I told you that I could not refuse you,” she tells him. “What I'm trying to tell you is that,” she nervously licked her lips. “I'm magically and forcibly enforced to obey your wishes, _especially_ if they are an outright order. So when I flipped earlier this morning when you told me about the fact that you do not want others to touch me, I wasn't trying to be mean. I confess I overreacted a little but if you hadn't…”

Darcy broke of with a surprised squeak when the arms holding her wound around her tighter and pulled her against his chest. His heart was pounding at a rapid rate Darcy wasn’t sure was healthy, and he almost seemed … panicked? His chest was heaving as if struggling for air and Gaia help her he was shaking under her body. For a moment both of them were silent, she could practically feel the moment when his sudden terror morphed into something much hotter; his anger and rage cracking around him while he buried his nose in the crook of her neck and took deep breaths, obviously fighting for calm.

“It's alright Brock,” her own arms wiggled to free from in between the two of them and moved around his neck to hug him closer, not that it was possible to get into an even tighter embrace but she tried to reassure him never the less. “It's alright.”

“It's fucking not!” he roared out, startling her. “Gaia! Darcy!” his voice was a strangled mix of a growl. “Shit! Of course my _father_ ,” he spat the word. “Would fail to tell me that crucial little detail. Fuck!” he cursed into her neck, clutching at her like she was the only thing keeping him anchored.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he demanded to know and before she could even begin to form an answer he spoke again. “Shit, of course you wouldn't tell your abductor that. Shit! That's why you were so damned meek all of sudden, why all the fight seemed to disappear. You thought I knew and would use you like a fucking slave. _Shit_!”

“Brock, focus.” she told him grasping his face with both of her hands. “I love you and it's alright.”

He scoffed at that and bared his teeth in a feral snarl before his face softened and he allowed their foreheads to touch, his voice was a pained mixture of rage and sadness and if they weren't this close she was sure she wouldn't have heard him. “Please tell me I didn't force you. Please let this –let us- be real. Please, please. Please let me not be a monster.”

“You didn't. baby” she assured him, her heart and voice breaking at that last child-like plea. “Gaia, Brock!” Darcy pressed her lips to his, the tears from her eyes mingling with his and coating their lips in a bitter broken-hearted brine.

“You didn't, you would never.” she planted soft kisses along his cheek and ventured to nip at his throat teasingly.

“ _Please_ ,” he ground out of a throat that seemed filled with gravel, and she wanted to and did weep at how lost and broken this strong man sounded.

“Shh, Brock. Love! I'm not completely bound to follow absolutely everything you say.” another little nip. “Or I would have never managed to refuse your marriage proposal that first night or following morn.” her tongue flickered across his skin and she felt some of the tension leave him. “I'm not completely helpless you know, if you had been someone else I would have ripped your soul out.”

_I would have ripped your soul out._

The tears of rage and helplessness, of self-loathing and horror started to slow and he _listened_.

“What stopped you?” he inquired. “What fucking stopped you from doing that? Why wouldn’t…why didn’t…”

He found he couldn’t continue and he couldn’t remember a time in recent history feeling so … lost.

Defeated.

“Honestly? I don't know. I think I might have already fallen in love with you back then and just not realized it.”

He snorted.

“You're too damned good for me,” he murmured against her, pressing his forehead against hers and sighing. “Whatever did I do to deserve you?”

“You're one to talk!” Darcy huffed and pushed against him a little until she was able to face him once more. “Whatever did I do?! To deserve you. Just imagine if anyone else would have acquired me. I was lucky, really lucky.” she almost whispered. “I think for once the Fates favored me.”

“I and a lot of others would disagree with you on that one wifey,” he chuckled – the normally amused sound was almost hollow, but at least the despair that had gripped him seemed to have lessened and that’s all she could have asked for.

She felt a weight lifted from her heart at having finally confessed what had been bothering her this entire time.

“If anyone is the lucky one, it is me.” he continued with a smirk and his hand traveled up her thighs and came to a halt when he felt the leggings stop with a frilly part of lace and end up with bare skin. A dirty smirk immediately found itself onto his lips.

“Those aren't leggings,” he was so turned on. His hands played with the bit of lace and velvet glide of skin.

She giggled softly and pouted. “They were meant as a surprise.”

“I think your father is going to kill me after all.”

~~~

It was sometime later that they found themselves still cuddling with each other; the cookies were long since ready to eat and smelling deliciously; when he pulled his phone out and sighed softly. “I guess it's now or never huh?”

Her eyes fell onto the cell phone and she quipped curiously. “Who are you calling?”

“Your father?” he arched an eyebrow at her. “Like we agreed upon.”

She started to giggle. “We're not going to call him via phone.” Darcy snorted softly and then far more seriously informed him. “I'm going to summon him.”

Brock blinked at her before he shook his head as if to clear it from some thoughts. “Like a séance? You're going to summon him like some ghost or demon in a movie, or something?”

The open bewilderment in his voice spoke of his honest confusion. It suddenly occurred to Darcy that this was new territory for her husband. As a DemiGod, his god of choice for a summoning without serious consequences would have to be his Divine parent, and she could never imagine a situation where Brock would open himself to that kind of obligation.

“Somewhat yes,” she agreed with a nod. “But you shouldn't call him a demon. He doesn't take kindly to it.”

Her husband grinned and chuckled. “I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter what I say, he's going to hate it anyway.” Brock then gestured around. “What do you need to summon him? Candles? Salt? Do we need the bones of a black cat and bury them at a crossroad like in Supernatural?”

She ignored the sarcastic question. “Brock, no! Not Supernatural!” she whined a little. “Candles will help and I'll need a knife.”

“That does sound a lot like Supernatural to me.”

“Oh shut up!”

~~~

The phrase ‘quiet as the grave’, while not quite accurate, was the best to describe Hades these days.

Both the God and the Kingdom named for its ruler.

Hades the Kingdom was a true kingdom in all aspects: creatures great and small scurried about, rivers and portals led to the various Fields of Elysium and their occupants; courtiers from both Olympus and beyond flitted through his Court. Tartarus was bustling as well; evildoers and never’do’wells working out their eternal punishments the same way the Just and the Heroes lived their paradise.

There were homes to be built and jobs to be accomplished. The lucky few who had access Aboveground commuted every day to the various agencies and embassies set forth to showcase their particular talents. They may not be the glittering throng of Olympus, nor the self-righteous superiority of Asgard and her Seven Realms [ _Midgard_ as they called it, they forgot who truly ruled this plane and it was not Odin nor Yggdrasil], nor the whimsical yet hypocritical piety of the Elven-kin.

And yet the creatures whom the Kingdom of Hades was home to moved with a raw honesty and purpose; Death strips us all of our illusions both to others and ourselves. It is the great equalizer; the humble citizens of Hades were laid bare and therefore experienced a freedom in a way that nothing and no one would ever be able to comprehend.

People tend to forget that Death can bring about just as much joy as sorrow; celebration as well as mourning. It is a relief to some, an easing of a great burden; it is the finality, the absolute end of all hope for others.

It is balance.

Life is found within Death, and Death will blossom with Life.

This is the way.

Yet for the citizens of Hades even those on Tartarus step with care, hardly daring to make a sound.

Their Queen’s Absence is normally a delicate time, when the people and creatures of Hades give respect and space to their revered Lord and King’s grief at being separated from his Beloved.

This was worse.

It seemed as if even the River Styx hushed their waves and retreated from the shores, the bones of the Fallen scuttling after in an attempt to avoid exposure to more than the unnatural environment.

Hades the Lord of the Underworld was also silent.

Oh, their Lord and Master was a serious being, for sure. A grave –ha! - Man who took his responsibilities with the noble exhaustion of one who had nothing else to lose.

Grim and solemn, in the early days Before the Queen™, he often wore an expression of perpetual mourning.

Why shouldn’t he? As the Eldest male heir of Cronus and Rhea, he should have ruled Olympus but for his brother’s machinations.

Those who dealt with his various relatives all came to the agreement that the Underworld Hades ruled over was much better than if Zeus or Poseidon had the run of things. How different would that Olympic hoard be if it were Hades, not Zeus on the throne?

What had been meant as a punishment, an unfair jest, a rigged game of lots and Hades the Lord had turned what was supposed to be his downfall into a well oiled machine. The Underworld was meant to crush and destroy but yet he thrived.

Hidden beneath the Earth, Hades managed to coax a bustling Kingdom the same way he coaxed the riches of gold, silver, iron, and precious and semi-precious jewels and ore from their earthen and rocky cocoons. The roots of Great Forests and magical herbs dug deep and flourished in the dark where it was meant to die. Minerals of supernatural quality and rarity happily boasted their marvels for his regard.

Some clans called him Plouton, the Wealth-Giver, afraid to give voice to the grimmer title of “Hades”, the Invisible One. For does not Death come upon one without notice?

Oh, the older denizens all remembered a few of his consorts who helped brighten their solemn King’s visage … the Oceanid nymph Leuce, known as Leuke, for one. Oh, she was a beauty and so sweet! There were those who claimed that Hades had stolen the nymph from the banks of Acheron. The true story was that Hades had found a companion, and shared a loneliness and who’s mortal short time brought such joy to the Underworld and its King. At her death Hades memorialized his love with creating the sacred white poplar tree in the middle of the Elysian Fields.

And who could forget that haughty river naiad Minthe, known far more commonly as Mint or Menthe? The more recent of Hades’ consorts, it was unfortunate that she was the lesser nymph in control of the River Cocytus, the main river that flowed into the Styx and surrounded much of the corporal Hades.

One of the most beautiful women, it had been instant lust between the pair once she had gained a woman’s maturity. It did not take long for her to be a common sight in the King’s chamber and she had taken to lording her position as the King’s lover over any and all who would listen. And force you to if you did not. How Hades could have been besotted with this self-important creature, Gaia only knew. She acted as if the crown were her right despite never been formerly offered [or even considered] for the role of Queen.

This one you _never_ mention her name where the Queen could hear.

 _Ever_.

For their kings; sake the citizens endured that conceited River Daughter; yet no one save their King truly mourned her passing. Privately, many even cheered and fell in love with their Queen even more for putting that brazen hussy in her place. Ironically, she had been cursed into a form that would never live in the river that birthed its original form ever again. A fitting end, for one who kept claiming that she was the right Queen of the Underworld, and insulted the young Regina at every opportunity.

But even those precious nymphs of Hades had never had such a hold on him the way their Queen, and later, their Princess had.

It was said that Eros’ arrow which struck Hades was True Love and therefore Fated in regards to their Queen. Not that it had been easy at first. It may have been True Love, and Persephone may have been gifted to Hades and acknowledged as their King’s Bride by her father Zeus in the tradition of the time, but it still took time for the young woman who would be their Queen to reciprocate.

To find out later that their young Queen had been brutalized and raped by her own father, the Divine Zeus …. Impregnated no less! Then to be forced to watch as her father took the child borne of that incestuous union and to hear later of that child’s death at the plottings of her step-mother and Queen … to be reborn of another woman and become Dionysus but have no memory of his true mother?

All of Tartarus quaked in shared wrath with their King. One of the few times Hades had left his Kingdom to confront his brother, the King of the Gods.

No wonder Persephone had such an ordeal.

But once their Queen did accept both her husband and the Crown and kingdom he offered … oh, happy day! While uncommon – though not as rare- it was known that Hades would actually smile! And oh! How Persephone showed she could be just as cruel as her sire … ruthless their Queen was.

Everyone knew who truly ruled the Underground.

And then the Princess was gifted to them all.

Whispers began as rumors from the Aboveground began to trickle down – here’s looking at you Hāpī – and all the Underworld held their collective breath [metaphorically – they are dead they do not need to breath as in life -] as new of their beloved Princess being abducted!

And all this after a successful attack against the Tower she resided in with Hephasteus’s little demi-grand child who liked to blow things up no less [it is said some residents are still pouting that the little –ahem- warlord (Ares and his get are still pissed at that –like no you don’t have a monopoly on war) no longer built such amazing weapons of destruction, though the Clerks at Immigration were certainly glad that the influx of the dead had come to a more reasonable level than before his cute little stint as Iron Man].

The thought of the Little Princess being in trouble stirred up anger and discontent throughout all the Underground.

Darcy Macaria was their Blessed Death, the Rebirth and the Balance between Life and Death, Thanatos’s god-daughter, and named in honor of Heracles‘ own daughter who was sacrificed to save her family and adopted country.

Perhaps she should not have been named so. No one who lived or visited Below would or could ever forget the utter rage and hopelessness as on the day that their Lord brought the mangled and bloodied mess of his Heir back to the Underworld from Olympus. The panic on their Lord’s face ... barely was the healing process started before Zeus himself entered Hades in all his Glory to banish her to the Mortal world. Regressed to an embryo and cursed to be born of the Human Lewis family no less!

 _Lewis_!

Not even the Greek or Sicilian stock as the mortal descendants of her ancestors were.

 _Norseman_ Lewis. Those modern English-Welsh-Scots whom descended from those blasted Viking Northmen and their Asgardian ritual blasphemy.

Cerberus himself was lashed into submission with bolts of Zeus’s lightning to keep his feral jaws from snapping the King of Gods for daring to touch the Precious One. Hermes kept Queen Persephone at bay [paying dearly for it – the welts from the poisoned vines and puncture exit and entry wounds as their Queen fought back lasted decades on the Divine Messenger’s being] and Hades himself shook the entire Underground as for one moment, all of Olympus and the Underworld held their breath – would Hades, who’s true name was lost to myth – finally challenge his God King brother?

In the end, their Lord and King could only hold his furious Queen as their beloved daughter was ripped from their grasp and sent into the void.

Who could forget their Princess? She who would flutter about on those little feathery wings of fluff, like an actual facts cherub as she toddled after her father and mother in their duties to the Kingdom. And when her mother, the Queen, had to return to her own mother Demeter, it was the Princess who kept their King in good spirits. Not even Demeter could deny the child born of Death and Spring her time with her father as she had taken her own daughter.

Darcy...their precious, precious Princess. She was such a blend of her parents, the very duality of her parentage mimicked in her powers and appearance.

She was Balance.

Then such joy! Their Lord King Hades brought his near-mortal Prodigal daughter home. For the first time in decades, the Royal Family was One as they should be. The entire Court was bustling with laughter and happiness, the Cooks scuttling like mad to acquire all the Princess‘ favorite foods for the meal and so the news spread throughout the kingdom rapidly. But the celebration was too soon.

There was no one who could have denied the power as when their King’s Power was drawn upon by a Favor.

_A Favor!_

The terror that reigned after the Favor had been evoked was not spoken of. Nor was the even more worrying fact that their King was Highly Displeased with their Queen. Such an occurrance was so rare it was difficult to recall any time past. Not since the early days, before Persephone fell in love with her abductor husband, and came up with a ploy to ensure that she was able to return to her husband in his Underground abode.

Even the ghosts had fled the Castle where they loved to throng about their Liege Lord, drawn to his power and the death that clung about him like cologne.

But that was nothing compared to the past couple days, when the King returned from an emergency summons to Olympus. More than one servant was made privy to Hades all but banishing Persephone without one backward glance.

Hades‘ silence did not bode well.

All of the Underground trembled at what could possibly happen next.

~~~

The Throne Room of the Inner Court was the very definition of life sucking. Torches flickered in the gloom, within their cages and perches, yet unable to shine for any useful distance as the oppressive stillness seemed to cover even that meager light.

As if made of bone and gossamer, the Throne was shrouded in the darkest of shadows, not even a ghostly flicker to highlight any detail made an appearance. The darkest of shadows gathered into one pensive form, as the Lord of the Dead held court to a room long abandoned.

The Queen’s Chaise [Persephone hated calling it a throne or chair] sitting almost equal the King’s was ominously empty. The lack of occupant not an unusual sight in this court, but the stigma surrounding it was…it wasn’t one of hopeful anticipation for its mistress as was normal.

Dread and despair seemed to cling to the very marrow of this room, and it was one that no one wanted to be. Even the most persistent of courtiers had abandoned Court to its brooding Master.

Never to be accused of anything as plebian as ‘sprawling’, the very King of the Underworld glared into the gathered gloom, his weight bearing upon one shoulder and elbow that was actually touching the back of the Throne, one leg bent at the knee and the other stretched before. Such a breach of decorum scared the servants more than any words that could have been shouted; this was not their almost prudish manners Liege.

Hecate, the Goddess of the Crossroads, known as the women’s goddess, goddess of the Crafts and Necromancy, was an audience of one before the King. She had been tired of having to wait to give her report to the obviously grieving Liege.

As one of the few individuals whom could face Hades without immediate fear, Hecate arched an demanding brow at the Lord of the Underworld.

“You aren’t paying any attention,” the goddess fumed, pursing her lips. She did so hate wasting her time. Hades was normally not one to ignore her reports, and she actually held him in high esteem. But there was no denying how irritating it was to be ignored.

“Hmm,” the King finally rumbled, those startling neon eyes flickering to her own and even she, a Goddess born, felt her mouth go dry as the intensity sharpened to something that cut and tore all the air from her lungs.

“I said,” she began after a couple false starts, ignoring the sardonic curl of his lip that somehow made him look far more like his brothers than he should, “I said that there is something going on in the realm of mortals. There has been an increase in the number of so-called “super powered” mortals. Many of them carry a form of magic, and it is breaking Balances. Thanatos is not pleased; even dead some of these are not _staying_ dead or still retaining their powers and autonomy _while_ being dead.”

Hecate’s tone indicated how rude she found that breach of decorum.

Mortals were supposed to stay dead when they died; the magic infused ones released their magic upon death to be rewoven by the Fates to gift another soul.

This is the way.

This is _not_ what has been happening lately.

The Crossroads were wailing with the Winds of Change, and Hecate loathed that Change. Fate was such a picky bitch, and Hecate did not want to deal with the fallout despite the potential for an increase in business.

“And what would you have me do about this…hmm?”

She tried not to wince at the dry bones rattle of a voice unused after vocals had been shredded. The ancient Goddess opened her mouth to speak but the sudden press of Blood Magic drowned out anything that might have been said.

For the first time in days Hades seemed to come alive. His spine straightened within his seat, finally upright, and his eyes started to gleam with a translucent glow. The very air seemed to crackle with the _Power_ behind the Summons.

For that’s what this was.

A Blood Summoning.

And Hades, Lord and King of the Underworld, abruptly stood up from his throne to his full height, and disappeared like a flicker of smoke.

“So much for that,” Hecate grumbled, sighing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)
> 
>  **LittleMrsCookie:** I want to let you guys know that I'm pregnant. 😘 Surprise!
> 
> Edit: Thanks for all of your Congratulations 😁 I'll dutifully forward them to my hubby.


	29. Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love belongs to my Cowriter - she did all of the work on this one. I just added some small suggestions.  
> [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> 

Hades had been a lot of things in his millennia of existence. It was difficult having happy memories when his very first breath was almost his last. Who enjoys being swallowed by their Divine father whole and being forced to mature in the belly of his father’s gullet with his sisters and brother?

It was no wonder he and his siblings were all fucked.

Cronus was worse than his own father Uranus. And Zeus seemed to have taken up that baton from their father and grandfather and ran with it.

The freedom of being released from his unconventional prison was something that no one living now could ever comprehend. He identified and sympathized strongly with those who are trying to find out who they are as he did as well as those who didn’t know the paths they wanted to forge. For though the Fates weave our story he had discovered it was more like a choose-your-own adventure. How often in his youth and even now, did he struggle with figuring out whom and what he wanted to become?

What with that blasted war of Titanomachy with his Father, Kronos, and the various aunts and uncles that formed the original Titans as well as various cousins. It was the first time that the second generation of Gods had all come together. All of them were united with a common purpose and dedicated drive; the cries of battle, the blood and viscera flowing, the sheer chaos of it all… but most of all … the hope.

Hope for a better future.

Hope that all can be at peace.

That is all Hades ever wanted.

That wasn’t what he was able to get.

But Hades wasn’t one to back down. People are so afraid of the man who became the Lord of the Underworld; they forgot that once there had been a man (figuratively speaking) before becoming the Lord of the Underworld.

So…he was to be punished by his brothers and forced to do his duty in the new Divine Order as the Lord of the Underworld, High King of the Underworld Gods, and Overall Guardian of the Titan’s Prison was he?

Well…he would do his duty and he would show his brothers! He would show them all! Despite having his birthright as Eldest Heir and Throne as King of the Gods stolen from him by the vastly younger and much more charismatic Zeus, or being forced away from his favorite habitat on Earth by Poseidon [there is a reason so many of his past lovers were daughters or descendants of his uncle Oceanus], never let it be said that Hades would not make the best of things.

That stubbornness paid off though not without a price. So consumed was he in doing his duty, and creating a habitat for all the poor dead souls, and showing up his brothers, that he very nearly missed the signs of the insanity of Absolute Power corrupting his siblings.

By far, Zeus had the most spectacular and dramatic issues of all of them, perhaps befitting his status as both baby of the family and the King of Gods. For their grandmother Gaia’s sake, the man went through two wives before raping and settling into marriage with their older sister Hera. Although knowing that particular sister, Hades wasn’t too sure that consent –hers or otherwise- was actually such an issue.

Hades wasn’t certain that his former sisters-in-laws hadn’t been…disposed of in the name of Hera’s ambitions. He heard things, being the Lord of the Underworld, as when his brother’s former wives came to his Court, he ensured they had the best Reward for all they had to endure at the hands of his relatives.

Hera had always been strong-willed and incredibly determined; she resented that her aspirations were limited and dictated by her gender per the laws of that Time. It didn’t surprise him in the least that out of all their Divine Sisters that it was Hera who made the final cut as High Queen. If she was going to be forced into a traditional female’s role than by Nyx she was going to be the best as well as being the highest ranked possible.

It was unfortunate that her God King Husband was such a man-whore as Darcy would put it. Hades was only glad that after the first several murder attempts she didn’t directly go after her husband’s ill-gotten bastards as blatantly as she did. The fact that her own offspring with Zeus were assured to have both the possibility of the Throne as well as the highest seats on the Council and Olympian Pantheon seemed to appease her murderous tendencies somewhat.

Did it bother him to not be considered one of the Olympian Twelve? Not anymore. It was just another way of Zeus and Poseidon trying to take away his agency, what Darcy would call a classic smear campaign that has lasted centuries. It was true, that the more the mortal peoples of Terra Firma worshiped, the stronger one’s Divinity became. And here was where Zeus and Poseidon didn’t take into account. Despite celebrating and worshiping Life and the Gods that control all the pleasing attributes of Life; Death is celebrated as well. Death and the Afterlife come across people’s minds more than once in their lifetimes, however long or short by the Reckoning of Man. And in their very avoidance or obsession with Death, there is a type of Power. Power that not even Zeus or Poseidon could touch or grab a hold of.

And so Hades became strong as his Olympian siblings if in a different way. But all this Power of Worship went to everyone’s heads; Power bringing forth abilities great and small and creating one of the first Baby Booms; once Hades felt the power that indicated an enormous amount of kin was being born of his sibling’s dalliances, he started to pay more attention to what was going on Aboveground. But he did get more concerned at the safety of his remaining two sisters, Demeter and Hestia. Both his brothers and their sons and daughters would switch from blood lust to lust at the least provocation; and he did not like the rumors that were being brought forth.

Most forget that part of his duties both now and prior to becoming Lord of the Underworld was being a fertility and harvest Deity. In fact, becoming Lord of the Underworld only seemed to enhance this particular power of his. And despite his worshipers and acolytes praying to him under one of his many names, it was still to him that they prayed for a bounty, especially at Harvest. And the wealth that Harvest brought, both in food and payment for food and goods.

Hades meant ‘unseen’ and Plouton meant ‘wealth-giver’.

All appropriate titles for both a God of the Underworld and of the Harvest.

He had given up his original moniker for these titles.

Demeter was arguably one of his favorite siblings. She was sassy and cheerful, all bright bubbly smiles and wicked banter. Her being the goddess of Harvest and Agriculture had given her just about as much power as Hera, and even more respect. Probably more so – don’t bring that up at family dinners.

Their powers before all of this Olympiad mess were very similar and the siblings often worked in harmony. The fact that Hades himself had had no interest in bedding his own relations made him a favorite and the Underground Safety Net for his unmarried sisters. Demeter as a matter of fact highly encouraged his relationship with his favorite consort, Leuke. How bitter a pill it was to be denied the opportunity to gift his Nymph with the Immortal Ambrosia that would have extended her life!

How different would be things if she had become his Immortal Queen?

The news of what their brother Zeus had inflicted upon his cherished sister was more than Hades could take. Conflicting reports stated she was raped; others stated she went to sleep and Zeus happened to be visiting their sister…at night…hmm, yeah, Hades had some serious doubts about the consent that went on. Demeter herself was tight lipped and gave no hint either way.

There were many times that Hades wished he could depose his brother Kings; at the very least do some serious damage. This was one of those times.

Hestia, that Goddess of the Hearth and Home, helped him take care of their sister, once it became known she was with child. It was needed, since Hera being unhappy with the news of a new stepchild was an understatement. Between the two of them, they assisted in her time of need, and a young Persephone was born into this world under the watchful eyes of the Lord of the Underworld and Goddess of Hearth and Home.

Ah, Persephone.

His beautiful, sweet little Kore.

Truly, Hades had had no designs on his twice niece. With Kore being his sister’s daughter, he of course looked after the lass. He was so thankful that the little imp took after her mother more than her Father Uncle, in both looks and power and personality.

Perhaps that should have been his first clue, at how the Fates would eventually bind them together. Kore took up the mantle of her mother Demeter, assisting with the Harvest, and her portion of the Harvest Rites dealt much more intimately with his own. Being more associated with Harvest, she had a curious balance of Life and Death, and perhaps that Deathly side called to his own.

Occasionally, there were moments when Kore was her Father’s daughter, and Hades would wince at the reminder. She could be just as sweet as her mother, but that cunning and charismatic ruthless streak was all Zeus.

Demeter’s helicopter parenting didn’t help much. Truly, Kore was loved and no one doubted that she was the apple of her mother’s eye. Never had Hades seen a Divine mother as devout or proud as Demeter was.

Damn, Eros, and his thrice-damned-Fated arrows!

Hades had been happily involved with his Realm and his consort, Minthe, when Aphrodite’s least repulsive son in a bout of mischief loosed those golden arrows.

Fourteen.

That was how old Kore had been when Fate decided she was the lustful target of all the gods of Olympus – including himself.

Poor Demeter.

She did all she could to protect her daughter from the randy lusts of her brothers and nephews. Hades didn’t blame her for panicking at the astrologer Astraeus’s warnings that her daughter was to be forced in marriage but not before being stripped of her innocence by another.

The hardest thing he could have ever done, while trying to fight the arrow’s effects, was to deny his sister her once safe haven in his Court. He had no control over his own faculties, and he had purposefully removed himself back down to the Underworld in hopes of getting himself together. He didn’t know it then – and Eros didn’t want to give up the news- but the arrow that hit him wasn’t just any love potion arrow…no, it had to be True Love.

The least he could do was give her a list of caverns that might be ideal until the love arrows’ effects dissipated.

Not that Demeter was fool enough to use any of them.

He had tried to excise the love and longing for his daughter’s child out of his mind and heart within the welcoming depths of his lover, but he was never satisfied. No matter how many times he took her body he could never get over the feeling that this.was.wrong. And he cast his lover out of his bed and his Court.

Minthe was not happy to say the least.

News of Zeus impregnating his own daughter – he was not spared an arrow either or that’s what he claimed – filled him with such disgust and he was ashamed to admit it … jealousy.

Hades was not proud of what he did.

He could be sneaky and cunning and ruthless when he wanted to be.

He would be the one to marry Kore.

He loved her.

But…he was going to do it in a way that no one would be able to deny.

He would use the current law to his favor.

So he went to his Brother King and he made a deal. A Favor of his own, if you will. In the aftermath and embarrassment of fathering a child on his own daughter, and dealing with a vengeful Hera who had allowed enemy Titans who had not yet been corralled into Tartarus to murder said child, Zeus was only too thankful to let the “Kore Situation” be resolved.

Demeter did her best to hide and protect her daughter. The once joyful child was not so joyful; her memories of falling asleep and waking up aching and bloody would leave her with nightmares to come. Then to find out she was pregnant and to have that child ripped from her arms no matter how hideous looking was a blow to the young goddess. To find out the identity of her child’s father was another blow; to hear of that child’s death, despite being unplanned, yet another.

Persephone was born that night or perhaps even earlier on the night of her innocence being stolen; Kore was no more.

Fifteen going on sixteen is when Zeus, approving of the union between his brother and his embarrassment of a daughter, helped with a little magic to distract Persephone away from her guards and friends long enough for Hades to snatch up his child bride.

Darcy always would smack him at this point in the story.

Ah, Darcy.

Long and hard was the battle for Persephone’s heart. Even now, he still did anything and everything in his power to prove his love true for his Angel, his Love, and his Queen.

But oh ….what a happy day it had been when his Beloved had revealed the news of her pregnancy to him. It had been a long six months since he last saw his wife, his Queen. That day, she was to be returned to him from her time with her mother and he was trying to finish up the last bit of Courtly Duties so he could greet her properly.

Persephone had other plans.

Any dramatic tendencies Darcy inherited most certainly came from Persephone and Demeter.

_“Oh, darling, husband! Our child and I are home where we belong!”_

_Those were the first words in person in six months that he had heard from his Beloved’s mouth as she threw open the large, heavy doors of the inner courts, and sauntered as much as her waddling gait would let her._  
_Hades’ jaw dropped and he stared. His precious, his beloved, marching through the Court as if she owned it…and her extended belly preceded her._

_Belly._

_Pregnant._

_Persephone was pregnant?_

_He dropped the soul of the poor idiot he had been dispensing justice to, not even noticing the shrieks as Cerberus attacked and fed on the unlucky soul in his haste to get to his Queen._

_Never had he thought he would ever sire a child; an occurrence he had thought impossible due to the strange magic and other damage incurred by his father swallowing him whole as an infant. None of his previous lovers had ever gifted him with a child, and he thought, perhaps that his position of Lord of the Dead had Fated him to a lifetime of just himself, his Love, and his Kingdom._

_He thought he had come to terms with it._

_The tears that streamed from his face, the moment an equally teary Persephone had grasped his trembling hands and placed them on her rounded stomach in front of all their Court and he felt the foreign feel of LIFE as well as a familiar chill of DEATH._

_That told him he hadn’t been as settled to a childless future as he had previously perceived._

_“Blasted Shades have been following me for months,” his queen grumbled as she glared at a nearly translucent ghoul, and a wave of her hand, the dead vines that graced the inner halls rattled to life like the world’s weirdest snake. A flowering vine, bedecked in thorns and narcissus, snapped like a creaking whip and flipped the ghoul into the nearest sulfur pit. The yellow mineral flared and erupted in stunning neon blue flame, all the primary colors vibrant and Hades felt a sharp kick against one of his hands that brought his attention to the little life developing inside his wife’s stomach._

Hades always liked to tease Darcy that she came very close to being named something like Narcissus Pomegranate after the Royal Couple’s now favorite flowers.

_“Good grief,” their daughter would grumble with a little smile and an eye roll and all her mother’s sass._

What a relief it had been, when she had been born healthy and with her mother’s creamy complexion instead of his own extremely pale features. It was indescribable…the culmination of all that worry as she was born in the Underground all for naught.

The little cherub wings, all fluffy and dripping with after birth goop, had been something of a surprise, the new parents staring in shock.

_“Well, her half-brother, Zagreus, had been born with dragon horns, so…”Persephone gave a tired shrug and a wry smile at her husband’s stunned face, and the jaws that dropped at the casual mention of her first child, born of non-consenting incest and lost to her._

_“What?” the Queen arched a lofty brow, her chest still heaving from the throes of labor she had recently underwent. “It’s true. Cherub wings are so much easier to pass through than dragon horns, let me tell you,” she pouted._

_Hades heaved a sigh but never took his eyes off the little Princess who was making her presence known in this world and the next very loudly._

_His wife, Persephone._

_Queen of the Underworld._

_Master of Too Much Information._

_Some of the women attending shuddered in empathy._

_One even grabbed her lady bits and looked ill._

_“She’s perfect, my Love.”_

That had been all Hades could choke out.

It remained his truth to this day.

These were the thoughts and memories that swirled within Hade’s mind, as he felt that tug on his soul, as only a Blood Rite could do, and he disappeared between to answer the summons.

Few dared to summon him – who wants to bring Death and its Guardian to notice them? – and fewer still could perform a Blood Rite; much less know how to do it.

Hades knew one thing.

His daughter, his precious flower, was calling for him.

He didn’t hesitate.

He went.

~~~

“Darcy!”

Once the ritual had been completed and the initial power of magic dissipated, Brock grasped firmly at his wife’s wrist, bringing her bleeding appendage to his mouth. His tongue darted out to lick off the tiny blood trail whilst his other hand carefully regained custody of one of his favorite knives.

He fanged out, elongating his incisor to nick his tongue just so and the next swipe of his tongue saw his own blood merging into the cut. The heady mix of his own blood amped up her healing and he didn’t bother to hide the red that flared into his eyes, fury and arousal vying for dominance as he fought to keep at bay the urge to get a better taste of his wife’s lifeblood.

He was not going to be impressed that she was able to have a controlled flow of blood for the Blood Rite.

Shit, he lied.

The expert way she had handled the blade, the way she made a proper cut while chanting; the flare of controlled power and magic even he could feel.

So he had a competence kink.

It wasn’t the only one.

Still, his tongue had a mind of its own and darted out to lick across his lips, chasing the last of that heavenly flavor that danced about his palette. He had been so careful so far not to break her actual skin when he nipped at her during their activities. He wasn’t afraid to admit that he tended to nip and suckle at her supple skin a lot. It was one of his new favorite pastimes.

He didn’t actually want to hurt her; her pale skin was so easily teased to a full blooming blush and the bruised palette of colors his mark left on her skin did something to the primal parts of him. It was a flag of belonging that even the most dimwitted human – male or female – was able to ascertain.

He was sure that at least some of those vampire myths could be tracked back to one of his sire’s sons. The bloodlust and biting kinks were a little too developed along that particular line, and Brock wasn’t an exception by any means.

Brock knew by the little smirk on her full, pouty lips Darcy as never let him live that stupid nickname of Count Count down.

“Do all Blood Rites require that much blood?”

She had said a drop. Hel, there was more than just a drop, a steady stream –small but steady – had dripped down.

“It wasn’t much,” Darcy hummed, rolling her eyes, and sounding amused. It was times like these that she was reminded that Brock had never – or would probably ever- perform a personal Blood Rite.

The only Deity he could hope to summon without a major sacrifice would be his own father.

No one wanted to Summon the God of War; No one sane that was.

Her husband may be many things – and she did question his sanity at times in certain situations – but overall, she didn’t think anyone would actually want to have Ares pay attention to them.

“Uh-huh,” Brock cocked an eyebrow, and couldn’t resist popping the blade into his mouth, sucking it clean and enjoying the way his wife’s eyes dilated.

_Interesting._

He couldn’t wait to introduce her to some knife play.

“It wasn’t much, it’s not like I am going to die from it, Brock,” her cheeks still flushed and clearly having enjoyed the sight of her husband working his tongue over the blade before it disappeared in one of the many pockets of his tactical pants. “It’s just a few drops of blood and a pinch of magic. We aren’t at a proper location this high up and with so much metal and concrete and Tony’s technology and we don‘t have a proper sacrificial offering for the Old Ways of summoning my father; it’s not the first time I’ve done this to speak with Dad.”

Darcy hadn’t had a chance yet to tell her husband that she had regular visits from Hades. Every second Sunday afternoon, she would summon one or both of her parents in this manner. Sometimes, especially in the summer the Sunday brunch would include her grandmother Demeter, although the tension between her father and, ugh, his sister, her grandmother, was a little much.

_“Such a shame … your father used to be my mother’s favorite sibling,” Persephone would recall, a small smile on her face as she brushed through her daughter’s thick fall of hair. She would weave small tendrils of vines along with jasmine and honeysuckle within the braids. “It’s been better. Eros isn’t so lucky,” The Queen of the Underworld would give that raspy laugh that had many a men looking at her with hunger._

_“Why, momma?” a young Darcy would ask, all chunky cheeks and sweet innocence, her little tufted wings flaring out and Persephone absently brushed aside a flailing wing out of habit. The newest batch of feathers were finally starting to grow in, though the little Princess itched fiercely as the sharp little points of the pin feathers – “Blood feathers, momma!” – were starting to lose their protective casing._

_The overall effect was awkward and gangly and Persephone had to fight the laughter and smiles that came to her face at the funny sight her daughter presented._

_“Well now…Eros shot the love arrows that caused so much trouble,” the Queen explained._

_“What a poopy-head,” the little Princess declared._

Whatever else may have been spoken between the newlyweds was forgotten as Brock jerked to attention, the hair on the back of his neck rising, as his wards began screaming from the danger of an unseen threat.

Shadows from both the dimmed lights and the burning candles seemed to have developed a life all their own, and it was suffocating. The dark seemed to come to life all on its own and invite friends and it seemed darker somehow; though he was looking at the lights burning at capacity they didn’t seem to be doing enough. Those safe lights flickered despite the fact that Brock knew that Stark would never allow for such a technical malfunction in his Tower.

Feelings of cold and dread seemed to suck the very life and breath out of the entire room.

Even Darcy seemed to hold her breath as the magic swelled.

~~~

“Oh, shit,” Tony’s fingers fumbled and dropped the tools in his hands, Dum-E and U’s reflexes the only thing that saved the newest Iron Man gauntlet and the soldering iron he was using from hitting either himself or the ground.

“Language,” Steve Rogers sassed, tense and looking his teammate over for injuries. He frowned as he took in the admitted genius, billionaire, (former) playboy, and philanthropist.

“Tony?” he took a step toward his teammate.

His eyes were big, face pale beneath the natural olive of his skin, and he lifted the welding goggles to stare over his shoulder and down in the direction he could feel the pressing roll of Power.

“Oh, shit,” he repeated, trembling, then …”Dum-E! No!”

The Man of Iron sputtered and choked as Dum-E sprayed him with the fire extinguisher.

  
_Again_.

~~~

“And this reading shouldn’t be like this…” Jane mumbled, hair a rat’s nest of tangles and snarls, interwoven with bits of pop-tart and held together by no less than ten pens and pencils and a screwdriver.

The genius astrophysicist had deep, purple circles bruised under her eyes, and her waifish form was swallowed by a loose button up plaid shirt that had seen better days.

Darcy’s absence and caretaking had been greatly missed, and Thor looked at his Lady Love with concern.

“Jane,” the Norse God began and then both of them stopped. Lightning glowed and spat like a solar flare and Mjolnir leapt into her Chosen’s hand, quivering at the thought of battle. “JANE! Stay here!”

“Oh. Oh, no!” Jane whispered, wide-eyed. “Darcy!”

J.A.R.V.I.S was the only witness to the shocking sight of Doctor Jane Foster dropping her handfuls of loose papers and booking it with impressive speed for the door. Thor was fast on her heels, too slow to catch the darting scientist, and he blinked in shock.

“Jane!”

~~~

Doctor Bruce Banner shot awake, breathing hard and gripping his sheets and blanket tightly, trying to figure out what had woke him from a sound sleep.

He squinted into the darkness of his room, even though he knew without his glasses or any light seeing wasn’t an option.

Then it hit him.

The Other Guy was whimpering in his brain.

The Other Guy was scared.

Bruce’s heart pounded and he tried not to panic.

_What would scare the Hulk?_

~~~

“Okay, Rollins, it really doesn’t have to be like this.”

“Screw you, Bird boy,” a dripping wet Jack Rollins attempted to glare out of the puffy, already swelling eyes as his knock-off super soldier serum fought to heal him. He was being held firmly in place in the locker room of the Tower’s gym, an unyielding metal grip on one shoulder, and an equally firm fleshy grip on the other.

Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye stared him down, adjusting his grip as needed. He inwardly cursed because James ‘Buchanan’ [Steve’s Bucky] Barnes, the freaking Winter Soldier, didn’t appear to be having much trouble keeping his end of the security officer and former STRIKE Team member in line.

It was times like this that Clint really wished he wasn’t the only un-enhanced of the bunch and he definitely hated Sam freaking Wilson for daring to be on vacation at the moment. Bird Bros and Un-enhanced Avengers had to stick together.

And just why did Rollins and Rumlow have to get the good stuff anyway? He could use even the generic Hydra version of the serum those two were injected with.

He could have done the undercover thing.

Especially after Loki.

He was surprised he hadn’t been approached after Loki.

“That’s not very nice, Jack,” Natasha’s voice was mild and almost chiding.

“It wasn’t very nice for you and your Brute Squad to dunk me and beat me up, either, Romanoff,” Jack spat a small glob of spit and blood at her sneakered foot.

“Nice shot,” Clint murmured, approving of the distance the loogie traveled.

“Clint,” the Widow’s eyes flicked to him in chastisement before returning to her quarry.

“I’d answer the lady, Rollins,” Barnes advised.

He was curious.

He had entered the gym some time previously to come across the tail bit of Natalia’s interrogation, his former protégé’s partner already winded and a bit bruised from the scuffle with the triple agent he recalled from his time with Alexander Pierce and the Vault. As amusing as it was to watch the other sniper dance around with the serum-enhanced individual, he had sighed as he entered the fray at Natalia’s begging eyes.

“Just answer so we can all get outta here,” the former Winter Soldier sighed again.

“I didn’t do anything!”

Jack’s Murder Face was something when he was just sitting around staring…it was quite impressive when he was livid.

Boy was he livid.

“This is what’s called, mental recalibration. You are not acting correctly for someone who’s boss and best friend has been missing for almost a week after an attack on this Tower. Someone who just yesterday was forced to take a break because you have been pursuing leads non-stop. And now…here you are. Today. You are smiling,” Natasha frowned and crossed her arms.

“Oh, he was smiling, Natalia?” Yasha cocked a brow at her, unimpressed.

“That’s what I got busted up for?” Clint groused, but he kept his grip anyway. Natasha was his partner and she had her reasons and he would hear her out.

“You were whistling…and _skipping down the hall_.” Natasha frowned again, tilting her head, and then her eyes grew big and her breath hitched. “Are Darcy and Rumlow back?”

The three men all went still at the Widow’s out of left field statement. Natasha found their reactions educational.

“Little D?” Clint tilted his head in confusion.

“What about Darcy Doll?” Bucky’s voice was growling and he was glaring at Natalia now.

“My goddess,” Jack sighed, a disturbingly dopey grin taking over his face and he just slumped.

Buck and Clint’s grips changed from holding him down to trying to keep him upright.

That dopey grin was still present, and he sighed in what could only be termed … happiness.

“Okay, who’s freaked out now? I’m freaked!” Clint raised his now free hand, eyes wide.

~~~

“Shit!”

Brock cursed with fervor as his Demi-god system seemed to jolt like an electrical grid coming online.

There was barely any time between that danger pricking against his neck, as between one heartbeat to the next the Lord of the Dead was just suddenly… _there_. Not even a beat after he… _manifested_ … mind you, complete with ghoulish forms and eerie screaming moans like Stark’s last Halloween soundtrack of the dead surrounding him …. Darcy’s wrist twisted out of his slacked grip and she launched herself at the now solid presence in front of them.

“Daddy!”

It was jarring as well as more than a little unnerving …. The sight of his wife darting between actual ghosts and …. Souls (some of them went through her, oh _Gaia_!) and he wasn’t sure if the reason he remained in place like a dumb civilian was on purpose or just … shock.

Even had he not known the identity of his newest guest, standing in the middle of the cleared space of the living room where he and Darcy had moved all the furniture out of the away against the walls. Darcy’s father was an imposing figure and he found himself almost standing at attention in a response drilled into him since his father deemed himself old enough to train.

Hades’s mortal appearance of a pale skinned and dark eyed human was almost a joke to one who could see past the glamour. Without any effort, Brock’s demigod blood allowed him to see the alarming cerulean glint banked within those fathomless eyes. There was darkness, a total abyss layered underneath the thinnest veneer of human camouflage, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he shared the same claws of his daughter beneath blunt, well groomed fingernails.

Unlike his own father, who was proud and openly wore his armor and weapons so as not to be unnoticed as anything less than what he was, the King of the Dead was once again dressed in a snazzy, well cut modern day suit. The well tailored and obviously expensive suit nipped in at his slim waist, and accentuated the broad shoulder Darcy was currently laying her head against.

There was no doubt in Brock’s mind, that the matte black battle armor from the Hydra’s swamp could make an appearance in the fraction of second it takes to blink should he feel the need to do so.

Brock bared his fangs at his visitor unconsciously, his fingers twitching and longing to draw a weapon against the massive THREAT that his father in law radiated. His logical side vied for dominance, desperately urging him to listen to reason and not to be rash or mess things up.

He was sure Darcy would never forgive him for starting a war with his in-law.

~~~

“Daddy!”

The sweetest title he had ever been bequeathed dripped out into the silence he had intended only for himself to be rendered speechless.

Not even a second after appearing within a familiar summoning circle, Hades found himself with an armful of his most precious treasure ever coaxed to life.

“Darcy.”

He couldn’t get more than her name out of a throat that felt like all the boulders in Tartarus were lodged there; his eyes blurred and welled with tears in response to his rising emotion and he clutched his daughter to his chest.

_Safe._

_She was safe!_

“Daddy,” she repeated, snuffling and rubbing her chin and cheeks against his chest as she always did, something that his mortal adult daughter did that had never changed from infancy. The only thing missing were those damned wings fluttering about and threatening to take an unwary bystander’s eye out.

His baby girl had talked with her wings much the way she talked with her hands and eyes and mouth; loud and exuberant and flailing emphasis.

Her arms tightened and squeezed as far as she could reach as hard as she could; he was helpless but to do the same.

_Safe. She was safe!_

The barest flicker of movement and the God of the Underworld locked eyes on Ares and Circe’s son, standing at battle ready. Those inhumanly crimson eyes fluctuated in a variety of shades, and the candlelight flashed on the ivory of receding fangs. The wariness in his stance and eyes reflected in his aura, frustration and fear and protective anger crackling the air around him.

This mortal bastard of his nephews was almost the spitting image of his father and it was almost a slap in the face, that resemblance. Despite the war mongering Ares being his brother Zeus’s most despised and least-liked offspring, the Demigod before him had somehow managed to fall into Zeus’s good graces, even prior to daring to use that Thrice-Cursed Favor in the most heinous way possible.

Oh, how he wished that Crossbones had truly met his end during his service for Zeus and the mortal Fury. Better it had been that he had met his nephew’s son in the Courts of Hades than to have been granted the opportunity that led him to meet his daughter, his cherished Heir.

Speaking of, after warning the creature through his glare who tricked himself into becoming _husband_ to his Flower, he turned his attention back towards his daughter. His pale fingers had moved of their own accord, one hand cupping her shoulders and the other already buried in the chocolate waves of her hair to press her against his chest, so similar to her mother’s and he breathed in her familiar scent, now tainted with the hints of leather and blood and the tang of gunpowder that must have come from Ares’ son.

Swallowing, he brought his other hand up to join the one pressed in Darcy’s hair, and stepped back ever so slightly. He didn’t hold back the twitch at the corner of his mouth as Darcy canted her head against the palm of his hand, a happy hum.

Just like her mother.

She loved having her hair played with.

Hades allowed himself a precious few seconds to run his hands through the length of her hair, the dark locks falling about her small shoulders and well past her dainty back toward her bum. With no effort whatsoever, he allowed the magic in questing fingers to build and then allowed it to release.

The magic he called forth wove tendrils of metal into thick and thin vines and leaves to form a crown, all gold, and silver, and the rarest platinum the Earth willingly unveiled to the Underworld’s King. The mix of metals was offset by a series of tiny, delicate narcissus flowers made of the thinnest crystal, and stunning fire opals smelted into pomegranate flowers. Other precious and semi precious stones of amethyst, agate, lapis lazuli, and the yellow pukhraj yellow sapphires formed the insides of the flowers as well as being inlaid in the crown itself.

The majority of the flowers on the crown began at a point above her forehead and then wove down, a full circle that fit her head and hair because it was literally made for her and her alone.

Darcy shifted in his grip again, sapphire eyes searching his while her hands left his waist so she could reach up and brush her fingers against the delicate bands and leaves of her crown, tracing the flowers that also rested just behind her ears. She had always enjoyed his work, loving everything he could form from the raw metals and ore and jewels that he coaxed from their Earthly cocoon, often begging him to make her new and pretty things.

_Just like Momma daddy, I want to sparkle too! Please, please, plee-asse?_

He gave her the best smile he could muster, his heart still heavy with memory and he leaned forward to kiss her forehead with fatherly affection.

A blessing and a benediction.

“Darcy…. _to polýtimo louloúdi mou_. My treasured flower.”

His sharp gaze didn’t miss the fact that both of her hands and wrists were free of any kind of bandages or bruising. His magic hadn’t detected anything broken or in need of healing; curiously her innate magic seemed to be stronger than the last time he had seen her in person and that was … troubling. If she was beginning to get her divinity back … if her Divinity was breaking their mortal bonds and getting past a low level demigod range … Zeus was going to kill her.

Perhaps even permanently.

Or worse.

He would let her live but hide her away where even the Lord of the Dead couldn’t touch. For all eternity.

His brother was a bastard like that.

Darcy’s beautiful and comfortable looking sweater dress, a piece he recognized as one of her own from a previous shopping trip with her mother, didn’t manage to hid all what he considered ‘damage’. The father in him was most certainly not happy at the sight of the “Love Bites” decorating her beautiful neck like some Neanderthal necklace; he grit his teeth at what he personally could only describe as mauling.

Yet another trait _Crossbones_ shared with his sire and half siblings. Even his half sisters had the tendency to mark their lovers in the basest carnality possible.

By the blood of his grandmother _Gaia_ , how he wished he could introduce that arrogant pup of a warmongers mongrel to Darcy’s godfather, Thanatos.

The very personification of Death.

“Hey, Daddy,” Darcy’s soft voice broke him of his daydream. And Hades was right back in the present; the apartment he stood in was of a similar setup and floor plan to the one Darcy normally occupied, though he knew they were a few floors down and the lack of personal style meant it had to belong to Ares’ son.

“Hello, daughter,” he smiled at her once again.

Although, small traces of the love and homely feeling his daughter preferred to surround herself in was found as his eyes took in the mismatched pillows scattered on the sofa and other sectional pieces shoved out of the way by the wall; the candles he knew for a fact that belonged to his daughter as well as a hand-knit afghan he recognized as his daughter’s work.

Demeter had shown her granddaughter how to knit, the same as she had been taught, and the duo often spent good portions of the day after Sunday brunch knitting and gossiping.

Those were the days he cherished, as knitting days after brunch seemed to be when Demeter seemed to have somewhat forgiven him for his part in separating her from her daughter. They all knew that whom she hated the most was their other brother, but each knew nothing would come of it. Zeus was too powerful and even in modern times, he still somehow found people to worship him or just the idea of whom he had been. Thus staying in power.

Hades missed his sister, truly and deeply, and while he regretted how he came to have his wife, he could not imagine his life without either his Queen or their little Princess. Zeus’s curse was almost a blessing, as in their attempts to see their daughter in the mortal world, Demeter was able to spend even more time with her daughter and granddaughter … even if she had to share face time with Hades.

“So…” Darcy began, beginning to rock side to side in one of her nervous tells, biting her bottom lip in another. “I made cookies!” her hands fluttered in a nervous gesture ( _Jazz hands, Dad_ ) and his eyes followed their movement to the spread of baked goods on another coffee table, this one closer to the kitchen.

And his …. Son-in-law.

“Wouldyoulikesomecoffee?” his daughter went into full babble mode and Hades felt his eyebrow arch upward. “I brought the good stuff!” she continued, “from my apartment and _we_ have a brand, new espresso machine!”

“You don’t need espresso,” the men chorused in harmony and shared a startled glance.

“Rude,” Darcy blinked between the two most important men in her life and tried not to feel very offended. Her husband snorted from somewhere behind her but she ignored him in favor of turning her world class, Natasha approved, Steve Rogers imitation begging puppy blues on her dad, pleading with him to take the obvious peace bribe.

“We have a lot to talk about,” she blurted.

Maybe the Fates were punishing him for abducting his own wife.

Those bitches were hypocrites since he hadn’t been intending to do that in the first place the meddling meddlers who meddle.

“We?” he clarified and Darcy huffed and rolled her eyes right back at him.

“Yes, _we_.”

“Coffee would be acceptable,” he acknowledged and his daughter’s face lit right up.

“Black?”

The raspy baritone of Ares’s boy jolted him.

“It’s alright,” Darcy chirped while using her Best Hostess Ever™ smile and voice firmly in place, clapping her hands, and doing a little shuffle dance. “I can make it!”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” the demigod grunted, arms now folded across his chest, but a soft look on his face as he gazed at the woman standing between the two men. “Catch up with your pops, stuff his face with those cookies like I know you want to. You _know_ by now that I can operate a coffee machine of _any_ kind.”

Hades brows both went upward.

His daughter was sporting the most interesting blush.

_Well now!_

“Coffee would be great,” the Lord of the Dead shrugged as he put his hands in his suit pocket.

Well, now, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send her all of the love guys! [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> I honestly did nothing but add a few suggestions here and there. Hades is totally her baby now.
> 
> This chapter is so fantastic that I asked her to marry me and she was all like "Cookie, you are already happily married and pregnant with your second kid." and I pouted and was all like "Details!"


	30. The TALK

“J.A.R.V.I.S!” Tony coughed out agitated, head turned frantically skyward wheezing as soon as he managed to breathe again after Dum-E's loving shower with the fire extinguisher. “Put whatever floor You-Know-Who appeared on, on lockdown immediately.”

He cursed plentifully, still hacking out fumes and foam, trying to ignore Steve who tried to help him up. The goggles still on his forehead, he accepted Steve's offered piece of cloth and wiped his face clean of the sticky substance as best as he could.

“I'm afraid that Dr. Jane Foster and Prince Thor just arrived on the floor and are now heading towards Commander Rumlow's residence.” the artificial intelligence supplied.

The disapproval in the A.I.’s voice was remarkable.

“Damn it.” Tony cursed once more, for the first time acknowledging Steve again, meeting his cerulean blue eyes, while he rose to his feet and attempted to head for the door “This isn’t good!”

“Tony, what is going on?” Steve demanded to know, grabbing his arm to halt his progress and Tony could practically see the gears turning in the super soldier’s head, “Who appeared in Rumlow's apartment? Is he back?”

Capsicle couldn’t keep the grudging disdain out of his voice, but for once, Tony didn’t have time for this. He needed to get down to Rumlow’s apartment and he needed to be there, now!

J.A.R.V.I.S carried on his report.

“I did warn them that Commander Rumlow has enacted privacy protocol, but Dr. Foster has ignored any warnings so far. It does appear that she is aware of who has arrived, as Prince Thor is rather unwilling to meet His Majesty.”

“Rumlow is back?” Steve questioned, confused, but perking up immediately. “Does that mean Darcy is back as well? He found her?!”

“Affirmative, Captain Rogers.”

“Wait, what!?” Tony piped up and started swatting at Dum-E, who was beeping his apologies while U passed off the empty fire retardant to Butterfingers. “Princess and Berserk are back and you didn't tell me?!”

“Princess? Berserk?” Steve mouthed almost silently, fuming.

“I apologize, Sir. Ms. Lewis requested that I would not inform you of their arrival until they had managed to debrief the King first.” J.A.R.V.I.S did sound a little torn. “I'm not allowed to reveal what was talked about and is currently being discussed now, but I do assure you that they have good reasons to keep their arrival to themselves.”

“Lewis pulled rank on me?! With my own creation? How rude.”

Tony pouted, he truly did. It was bad enough that the bossy princess interrupted his science benders with things like sleep and food (who was he kidding he loved her. Well not _love, love_ , he was very happy with Pepper and didn't have a death wish, but seriously, he loved her)

By now he had managed to fend of Dum-E and shrugged Steve off.

“Seriously Cap, I’m good,” he pushed away the hands trying to help him, trying to strangle another cough. Geeze, what kind of formula were they putting in fire extinguishers these days? “I need you to stay out of this. J.A.R.V.I.S, my first and fourth born, I need an elevator, pronto.”

But Steve stepped in his way and in his famous Captain America VoiceTM spoke a single word.

“Tony.”

“Really, truly, madly deeply do, Cap.” Tony insisted, uncaring that his face and hair was still a foamy, sticky powder white mess and meeting his gaze head on implored. “Trust me.”

“No Tony,” Steve warned, hands coming up to grip the smaller man's shoulders. “You need to trust me,” he requested gaze firm and voice meaningful. “Remember the last time we didn't talk, we kept secrets?”

For the longest of moments Tony stared at him.

“Unfair. Ultron wasn’t really a secret since Bruce-y was in on the making process, and it wasn’t my fault that you kept The Abominable role in my parent’s death from me.”

The two men swapped glares as the tension of past mistakes threatened already delicate tempers.

“Sir, Doctor Foster is now banging on Commander Rumlow's door while Prince Thor is attempting to dissuade her without any success, it would seem. Also,” and Tony interrupted with “ _But wait, there’s more_ ,” and the AI just continued, “The Agents Romanoff, Barton and Sergeant Barnes appears to have Mr. Rollins in tow. My initial scans of Mr. Rollins are fairly disturbing…He is quite bruised and…loopy… to be honest,” for a moment the A.I. seemed unsure how to continue. “They have been in Ms. Lewis’ room and since she wasn't there they are now on their way to Commander Rumlow's apartment. They have accessed the stairwell and Sergeant Barnes is attempting a forcible opening of the security doors. They will not hold much longer against his arm.”

“Damn it,” Tony cursed again.”Those Wakandans know how to build an arm.”

”Tony,” Steve sighed.

“Yeah, language, I know, shut up and come along,” Tony growled out finally managing to leave his lab and take off towards the elevators. “You're not going to believe this one.” he almost snapped. “I heard you gave Fury ten dollars for his little flying thing so you might hand over a fifty right about now.”

~~~

“Jane,” Thor implored while they were in the elevator. “Love,” his large hands gently guided her shaking form against his chest. “Breathe love, breathe.”

“I can't,” Jane almost sobbed. “She's back Thor,” her voice was pained. “She's back and didn't say anything and _now Hades is here_! He didn’t even try to mask his presence. Do you even know how furious he must be for that to happen?” she hissed out. “Or summoned…If he was summoned than Darcy must be back but if he didn’t mask his Divinity than something might have happened to her. What if something happened to her?! The Tower was attacked, and they weren’t all human!”

“Hush love,” Thor rubbed the small of her back gently, mindful of his strength. “I'm sure my heart-sister is alright and has very good reasons,” he insisted. “She wouldn't keep you in the dark if it weren't important.”

“Hades doesn't get mad he gets even and it may take years but he never forgets,” Jane might have whimpered a little, fear and nerves getting to her. “Something terrible must have happened.” now she sobbed. “Darcy hasn't answered her phone in days, Thor, DAYS.”

“Hush, you talked to her remember?” he reminded her gently, his arms encasing her in a warm and gentle embrace.

“Yes,” Jane sniffled. “But I felt like she didn't tell me anything, really,” she admitted. “I felt like there was something she wasn't saying and you know how I am! If I could pick up on it, it must have been huge.”

Whatever else Thor might have said to reassure her was lost when the elevator arrived with a ding and Jane dashed out of his hold, twisting and moving like a snake until she was free and running down the hall.

“Doctor Foster,” J.A.R.V.I.S voice sounded from over head. “This floor has been placed on lockdown, per Sir’s direction. I must ask you to return to the elevator at once.”

“Like Hel I will!”

“Jane, my love,” Thor followed after her. “We should listen to J.A.R.V.I.S, soul of the Tower,” he tried again. “I do have to consider the political incident I could incur if I barge in on a meeting between the King and his daughter.”

At times it was so easy to forget that Thor had responsibilities to Asgard which he did take quite serious.

“Oh Thor,” Jane chided and turned hazel eyes on him. “Don't be silly. Hades is not that fussy.”

“ _King Hades_ and I do beg to pardon, my love.” Thor grimaced openly but still tried to find reason. Jane understood reason on occasion. “The Lord of the Dead is not someone you barge in on unannounced.” he reprimanded softly. “Nor to speak of him so lightly. There is a reason he is King, my love, and deserves to be respected as one. You are my Intended, and need to begin acting like it. Though with my sister Hela’s renewing and reinstatement as First Heir of Asgard, I am still Prince and a Son of Odin. I could very well start a war with an offense like this. I need to put my people – our people- before me, before us in this case. I'm sorry, Jane, we must leave.”

“Then stay,” she insisted and made a shooing motion. “Go back to the elevator.”

“Love!” Thor groaned. “Please reconsider. _You are not listening_!”

Ozone crackled through the hallway, and Jane paused long enough to gape at her lover, whose eyes had taken on the white-flash of his Power, and Mjölnir hummed in readiness.

J.A.R.V.I.S interrupted them again. “Doctor Foster, I apologize for interrupting but I really must insist that you leave this floor immediately! Sir has placed it on lockdown and you are well aware of whom it is that has arrived. Privacy mode has been engaged by Princess Darcy and Commander Rumlow due to King Hades arrival. It is very unwise to disturb them at the moment as they are discussing matters of great import.”

“I will absolutely not!” Jane snorted arriving in front of Rumlow’s door. “J.A.R.V.I.S! Announce our presence… please.” she insisted before turning to look at Thor. “You're being silly. King Hades is nice; he made me a perfect replica of the moon last year.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Rarely did he get vexed by his beloved but in this case Thor was seriously contemplating using Mjölnir to knock her out.

“The large moonstone sphere.” Jane informed him, flopping her hand dismissively. “Darcy asked him to make it for me for my last birthday; you said it was pretty, remember?”

“A truly magnificent piece of art my love,” Thor nodded his appreciation. “But we must respect the King's wish for this private conversation.”

No sooner had he spoken Jane began pounding against the door.

“Jane!”

Electricity sizzled and Jane threw him another glare as he came closer but continued her assault.

“It's Darcy,” Jane insisted knocking heavily and adding a swift kick for good measure. “The Almighty Lighting One himself could be behind that door and I would still knock,” she informed him before roaring at the door. “Rumlow! Open up and give Darcy back you Jack-Booted-THUG!”

Jane was impressively loud and Thor grit his teeth. “I know you're in there, and I know Darcy is in there, and I know King Hades is in there probably kicking your sorry Thug-ass! J.A.R.V.I.S, announce us!”

Thor blanched, his face growing a little paler than usual but he stayed firmly in place behind his lady love.

He didn’t want to do it, but he prepared himself for what he had to do.

~~~

“Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S interrupted Tony's hasty explanation of who had appeared in his Tower and why that might be a problem. “Doctor Banner is a bit nervous; he seems to have trouble with the Hulk.”

“Hulk?” Tony questioned at the same time as Steve, the elevator moving constantly. “Did he go into the Hulk-proof room?”

“No Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S supplied. “That doesn't appear to be the problem. The Hulk seems to want to … flee, Sir.”

“For once in my life, I would actually appreciate grandpa's help right about now.” Tony grumbled turning dark brown eyes that held an unnatural golden gleam onto Steve who stumbled back in surprise. “See what I mean, even Hulk can pick up on it.”

“Yeah,” Steve frowned at Tony, blue eyes searching the once again chocolate brown eyes of the genius. “So …” he trailed off. “Does that mean all of the other gods are real too, like uh, let's say…?”

“Don’t mention their names! Don’t ever mention their names; It gives them power and turns their attention on you and let me tell you, that is the last thing you want! But sure, yeah,” Tony nodded waving his question off and not noticing the worried look crossing over Steve's face. “J.A.R.V.I.S please tell Bruce that I'm trying to take care of the problem. He can either go into a panic room if he feels like he got the Big Guy under control or into his Hulk Smash Time Room; I did put some old cars in there for him to play with.”

“I'll relay the message.”

Tony huffed in frustration before turning back towards Steve just in time with the elevator door dinging open, head still turned towards Steve he started outside towards the banging and arguing. “So you understand that this is kind of big and can't be explained in a single elevator ride?”

“Yeah,” Steve followed after him and towards Rumlow's apartment where Jane was pounding on the door and Thor was fisting both shirts and attempting to tug the small scientist away from the door without much luck. A crackle of what could only be magic, a dazzling flare of what was possibly starlight smacked into nerve-wracking lightning, the ominous rolling of thunder outside almost masking the sounds of bending and screeching metal. The staircase door wrenched open like a poorly opened sardine can and fell to the floor with a loud metallic sounding thud just a few feet in front of them.

“My door!” Stark groaned, glaring as Bucky stepped through. Bucky’s gaze was dark and blank, hair wild and metal arm balled into a fist, his chest heaving he made a very intimidating sight that looked far too much like the Winter Soldier for Steve's comfort.

“Bucky,” Steve tried, noting the distant gaze on his face. “You're still with me?”

Those stormy gray eyes thawed to a more natural slate blue, snapping towards him immediately and softened. “Darcy?”

The single word, spoken softly and with so much worry relaxed Steve immediately. For a brief moment he had thought Bucky might have an episode.

He couldn’t deal with the Winter Soldier on top of … Olympic myths made life.

Greek gods.

They were real.

So were Norse ones… and Atlantean ones as he recalled Prince Namor. Steve Rogers, the son of Irish immigrants, paled at the sudden thought that maybe those stories his mother’s ma would tell about the Fae and other wee-folk were more than just that.

“I need all of you to leave,” Tony announced loudly just as Natasha and Clint stepped in through the destroyed door behind Barnes, dragging a dopey grinning Jack Rollins with them who kept mumbling about Darcy. “This floor is on lockdown for a reason! Why does no one listen to me?”

“Like hell we will,” Natasha announced and strolled past Tony, flipping her red hair nonchalantly and advancing for the popular portal.

That left Clint standing by the destroyed door and trying to hold Rollins upright. That poor man who looked more than a little beaten and was dripping wet. A poor victim left alive by the Widow and her sniper minions. A poor victim, who suddenly seemed to recognize where he was, and sprang to life like a windup toy.

“Not the nose, dude,” Clint rubbed his now bloody nose from where Rollin’s head had collided with him.

“Oh,” Rollins gasped out looking around and following after Natasha in a sprint of sudden energy. He passed her on her way and paused in front of the door to Brock Rumlow's apartment staring at it as if contemplating if he wanted to enter or not.

Jane had stopped struggling against Thor now and was staring at all of them with wide eyes, while Thor held himself tall and blocked the way, holding Mjölnir in a threatening manner, air around him cracking with the ozone of lightning.

“No one is to enter these chambers.” he declared firmly. “Leave!”

“You guys heard Point Break!” Tony clapped his hands. “Playtime is over, meeting in the common room, hop, hop! I'll try to explain as best as I can and tell you guys what has been going on so far, but I need you to trust me on this, and come with me, like now.”

“No,” Natasha growled at him crossing her arms and staring both him and the Norse Thunder God down. “I am not leaving before I have seen Darcy and made sure she is alright.”

“Darcy?” Tony asked innocently. “She's not back yet and you're on the wrong floor anyway, so please … hippity, hop guys. Shoo!”

“Wrong floor my ass,” Bucky snapped at him jerking a finger towards Rollins. “Darcy's back, this one 'fessed up'.” he grunted out. “And since her room is still empty and Jarvis won't tell us where she is, she can only be in Rumlow's apartment.”

Tony sputtered at Jack. “Wait, what? How do you know she is back?”

“He talked to her last night,” Natasha smirked at him. “Now… get out of the way.”

“NO!” Thor boomed and everyone, including Jane who couldn’t get out of his grasp, flinched.

“Everyone!” Steve voice commanded attention. “Listen to Tony on this one - yes Clint I see you smirking there; you need to hear what he has to say first, I need to hear it in full first. From what I heard, this is something above our usual disasters and we need to talk before we make any rash decisions. I want to know Darcy is back and healthy too, but we are a team, we should act like one.”

“So it is true,” Natasha gave him an unimpressed stare. “There is magic involved and you of all people know about it!”

“Not the point, Romanoff,” the Captain glared at his co-leader.

“Magic, gods,” Jack mumbled swaying slightly and gestured forms into the air. “And lovely glowing feet.”

Clint gave him a strange stare. “I think he is high.” he announced. “Because if he isn't this is the shittiest shapeshifter or mind manipulation I have ever seen. And I was thrilled by _Loki_.”

“What do you mean he is high?” Tony inquired obviously concerned. “And what happened to him, why is Agent Murder Face dripping water and looking like …,” he trailed off and looked them over before he groaned. “Never mind, you spysassins just had to beat him up huh?!”

Thor stepped forward, and tossed Jane [gently] into the Captain’s arms and reached for Rollins shoulder, staring deeply in his eyes. He did not have as good a grasp on seiðr as his mother and Loki had, but he could recognize a mortal in thrall when he saw one.

“Why would you attack Friend Rollins?” he demanded to know, and his team members suddenly seemed to remember that Thor was a _Prince_. “He has obviously been harmed enough for his mind to revert to a base bliss state; he must have come into contact with a Divine being recently and is still suffering the aftereffects of exposure.” he continued. “Mortals tend to get all ‘dreamy’ and ‘high’ as you would put it if exposed.”

“Divine beings? Aftereffects? What the hell has Rumlow dragged Darcy into?! Get out of my way.” Bucky growled, attempting to make his way towards the door, gears in his arms working. “I'm going to open this door if you want it or not Thunder-boy.”

“Step back,” Thor boomed, eyes flaring white and Mjölnir hummed in warning and Bucky paused eyeing the living hammer. “ _No one_ enters these chambers without the King or Princess inviting them in! Yes, even you, Jane. You should know better.”

Jane at least had the sense to start looking guilty; the disappointed and angry look Thor sent her way made her feel suddenly small and not just in stature. She swallowed.

“King?” Clint echoed, congested with his blood. “Princess?!”

And just like that everyone began asking questions, getting louder and louder. Thankfully no fists were swung yet but it wouldn't take long.

Tony was literally pulling on his hair.

“J.A.R.V.I.S, I need a suit like yesterday!”

“Verily Sir.”

But all questions and shouting died down as soon as the door to Rumlow's apartment opened. The silence that followed was almost comical.

Behind Thor’s protective bulk stood Darcy, in all her bright and bubbly barefoot glory blinking at them owlishly while her gaze traveled over all of them.

“Hey guys,” she chirped, hand waving enthusiastically like she hadn't been missing and just returned from a coffee run or a shopping trip. The combat savvy group didn’t miss the wary tension in her shoulders.

“What's the ruckus about? We are kind of in the middle of something important here and … what in Hel happened to you Jack?! And why is there a screwdriver in your hair Jane? Have you even showered? Tony! Why’d you give Dum-E a fire extinguisher? Clint, you need to stop getting into fights.”

“I showered!” Jane defended, hands automatically reaching to adjust the various writing utensils and tool in her hair.

Darcy tapped her foot on the floor and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “And washed your hair? Cause, sister, that don’t look daisy fresh to me.”

By the flush on Jane's face it was obvious she either hadn't or just put it into a wet bun, sticking pens and the screwdriver into it while she did SCIENCE.

“Little D you have a fucking crown,” Clint stared at the metal wreathing his friend’s head in awe, “I want one,” he whined and then frowned. “And you’re wearing contacts? Where are your glasses?”

“Crown? Oh, uh, yeah,” Darcy blushed and her hands reached for her own hair, fluttering before settling on gripping the ends of her hair and twirling them.

“Is that platinum? Did you dad give you platinum?” Tony huffed, squinting at her. “I’ve been asking him for some platinum. Wait…is that a ring on _the_ no-no finger reserved for _very special_ sort of _ring only_?”

“WHAT?!” the group chorused and only Thor’s growl and shifting stance kept them from moving closer.

“Darcy!” Jack announced happily stumbling past Thor who looked at him concerned but on instinct allowed the poor man to engulf her in a bear hug. “My little goddess.” He picked her up and cradled her against his chest while she blinked at him confused. He practically beamed at her. “I bought you shoes.”

“Say what?” Bucky growled and Natasha tilted her head, frowning.

“Umm, that's really nice of you Jack.” she squeaked awkwardly. “Are you feeling alright?” Darcy questioned tenderly touching his face which was swollen and already started to bruise. “What happened to you?”

“He has come into contact with a Divine and is suffering enthralled devotion as many mortals do…I think it may be you, _systr_ ,” Thor observed, one eye on the adopted sister of his heart, and the other on his beloved.

Jane had that squirrelly look on her face that meant she was a few seconds shy of launching herself at Darcy and not letting go. Perhaps even plotting poor Rollins’ murder the way she glared at the man still hugging and hoisting their missing friend.

Jack had the dopiest smile on his face, a smile that stretched his knife scar in a painful looking manner. “I've never felt better.”

Darcy frowned at him before turning her attention towards the others who just stared at them in obvious shock and confusion.

Twisting in Jack’s grip, she looked into the apartment behind her.

“Uh, hey, Babe?? Dad? A little help here?!”

~~~

Earlier in Rumlow’s Apartment

Darcy smiled up at her father, a small blush still adorning her cheeks she reached out and gently tugged Hades hands out from his suit pockets, interweaving her fingers with his she moved towards the monstrosity of a couch and sat down.

Patting the spot beside her she turned her eyes, those glittering pools of sapphires, onto him in a pleading manner. “Sit with me, dad.”

Hades’ eyes flickered towards Crossbones for the briefest of moments, curiously having taken in the way the demigod had sent his little flower a soft and loving gaze before venturing into the open concept kitchen to prepare their coffee.

There may be hope yet.

An auspicious start but he would bide his time and observe, even if all the hints suggested that his first impression of the warrior might have been wrong. Regardless, he wouldn’t be forgetting any time soon the absolute barbaric display on Olympus just a few days prior or the way he had used the Favor to gain Darcy as his.

With a heavy sigh, he unbuttoned his jacket prior to sitting down and was promptly offered a heavenly smelling cookie of which he accepted gracefully. Truly, his daughter had taken her Aunt Hestia’s teachings to heart and thrived.

Darcy snuggled up his side and just hugged him for a long moment. The pair ate their respective cookies in fond silence.

“Dad,” she began softly after the final bit of chocolate was licked from her lips. “I'm so glad you came, thank you.”

Nibbling on the last of his cookie, he just hummed in agreement before answering her. “I wouldn't miss your summon for anything, you should know that my precious flower.”

“I love you too, daddy.” she mumbled into his side, her arms tightening around him. “And I, we, have so much to tell you.” Darcy pushed her face up to look at him. “I should probably explain this in detail, but before we do that, I just want you to know that everything you saw on Olympus was a lie.”

“Everything?” Hades’s brows went up in disbelief.

“Everything.”

Did his daughter forget he could taste her lies?

“No it wasn’t,” the blunt, hasty snort of an interruption came from the kitchen and Hades turned his focus back to his son-in-law who appeared to be frothing milk. “Technically, we didn't lie, we just … adjusted… the truth,” The demigod had a smug smirk on his face and wiggled his eyebrows at Darcy. “To meet expectations not our own. A lot, but technically, we didn't lie.”

“You asshole!” Darcy grumbled and threw a pillow in his direction that fell woefully short. “I'm terribly nervous and I'm trying to make you look better here so dad doesn't kill you!”

“Uh-huh,” he agreed. “I appreciate the gesture, babe, but it’s not necessary. I have nothing to hide from your father, and lying to him isn’t smart for either of us. Besides,” the smirk was devilish and faux innocent, “I thought we agreed that I'm a stupid asshole, sweetheart?”

Hades almost couldn't contain the amused smile threatening to slip onto his lips when his daughter threw her hands up in frustration and complained. “See what I have to deal with?”

Could it be that all his fears had been for naught?

“Troubling, indeed,” Hades couldn’t resist teasing and Darcy stuck her tongue out.

So mature his daughter was.

That was all Persephone’s influence.

“I was waiting for you!” Darcy pouted in the direction of the kitchen and was only answered by a rumbling laughter from the demigod which caused her to grumble even more. “Stupid asshole.”

“Language, Darcy Macaria,” Hades chided absently, displeased. Cursing had its moments of appropriateness, to be certain, but there was no need for continual crassness. It was a weapon and had to be wielded accordingly or it lost its effectiveness.

“Sorry,” the Underworld’s Princess mumbled through a mouthful of cookie.

Munching on another cookie he observed the interaction of the younger couple with great interest. _Curious_ , didn't even begin to describe it.

Persephone may have been correct about the demigod’s intentions toward their daughter, after all.

Not that he was going to admit that to anyone, much less his wife, anytime soon. It was still early days yet, and he still wasn’t satisfied with the events of the past mortal week.

While Darcy crossed her arms in front of her chest, his son-in-law approached them with a small serving tray balancing two cups of coffee as well as one Latte Macchiato, a little bowl of sugar cubes, and a small milk jug.

“Oh, is the Latte Macchiato for me?” Darcy breathed pleased, sitting upright and clapping her hands in delight.

“So much for the stupid asshole, hmm?” he responded smugly instead, placing everything down and taking a seat on the 'L' of the sectional opposite of Hades yet still close enough he could touch knees with Darcy.

Darcy untangled herself from Hades and sat more upright, bare feet pulled up on the couch, she reached for the latte and took a slip before blinking with surprise.

“Is that _honey_?” she questioned, her little nose crinkling at the unexpected taste, turning wide eyes upon her demigod husband who nodded in affirmation. “Are you trying to health up my coffee?”

The outright indignation in her voice caused both males to chuckle.

“I can't believe you!” she sputtered, pointing fingers at the both of them. “You're teaming up on me?!”

“Darcy, sweetheart, I think you got off _lightly_ with healthy coffee,” he chuckled. “Remember, my mom turned me into a pig without even waiting for an explanation of what happened.”

“Oh, please, you deserved that and you know it!” Darcy rolled her eyes and giggled at the memory and before gushing, “You were so cute! And tiny! Circe totally knew you had been up to no good and dealt with you accordingly. At least she turned you back,” she sassed her husband. “And that had nothing to do with coffee and you know it! You’re punishing me,” she pouted.

Never let it be said that Hades couldn't enjoy a show when one was presented to him but at the moment he'd much rather hear the story these two obviously had to share.

“As amusing as it is watching the two of you bantering, would you kindly explain what you mean by all I saw on Olympus was a lie?” though a polite inquiry, both the younger adults could hear the implied command. “Or not, as it were. If I remember correctly, this one,” he nodded his head towards his mortal son-in-law. “Used the Favor to make you his in the most thuggish way. That Favor wasn't a lie, it was real, and it did work as your union was deemed an acceptable request that was fulfilled.”

The newlyweds fell silent immediately, the mood switching from carefree to sober serious in the blink of an eye.

“It was,” Ares son finally grumped, noticeably unhappy.

Curious.

Darcy lowered her coffee from her lips and looked like she was about to leave her place on the couch at any moment.

“Brock,” she began but he was already shaking his head, tattooed arms flexing as he placed his cup in one hand and ran the other hand through his hair, the movement pulling his simple black tee-shirt tight across his chest.

“Nah,” he waved her off. “It's true. I did use that Favor not knowing the full consequences of what it actually did to you…or required of you. Your dad has every right to be angry with me; you have every right to be angry with me. Hel, _I’m_ angry with myself.” he growled out.

He sat almost slumped over, glaring at the coffee mug in his hand as if he wanted it to combust before he turned those blazing red eyes upon Hades.

“I didn't know the Favor would compel Darcy to obey my wishes,” he admitted. “All I knew was what my father told me; he oh so conveniently left out the tiny detail that the Rite of Acquisition wouldn't just make Darcy my wife as I thought. Shit, if I had known what it would do to her combined with the Favor I would have never used it.”

“Indeed,” Hades met his new son’s gaze unflinchingly, bringing his coffee up to his mouth to sip.

_Grandmother! That was good coffee._

“Brock,” Darcy huffed softly, putting her latte down and moving to sit beside her husband, dainty arms pulling him into a hug which he allowed, putting his coffee cup down before his own arms wound around her. “Don't be so hard on yourself, you didn't know.”

Grasping her wrist when she moved to stroke his cheek he leaned into her touch, blazing eyes closing for a moment before he turned them back to firmly look Hades in the eyes.

“My sire started training me when I turned eleven,” he gritted his teeth a little, fangs showing. “Or what he called training. He beat me into a bloody pulp until he was satisfied and left me to heal on my own until I started fighting back _the right way_ as he called it.”

“Typical of your sire,” Hades commented dryly.

_“DAD!”_

Both men ignored the snarled hiss and maintained eye contact.

“Maybe,” Brock shrugged. “But it was all I knew of the gods treatment of their children, and I wasn't about to allow you to get your hands on Darcy; not after I saved her from a freaking Hydra in your domain. _Where she should have been safe_.”

Hades nodded in grudging acknowledgment.

His daughter …. His kingdom’s princess _should_ have been safe.

How unfortunate that it was his own wife, her mother, and that blasted Norse idiot the two women called ‘friend’ who put her in danger in the first place.

Hydra’s were beastly to shift into; it took years of experience and magical mastery to even make the attempt. Even the most experienced shifters had difficulty not giving into the creature’s base nature to maintain control. So easy was it to get lost in that foul creature’s mind if not correctly anchored; perhaps because a Hydra by nature had more than one mind and thus varying personalities and motivations to contend with.

Many a Hydra of myth was actually arrogant mages who thought too highly of themselves and became stuck in their new ghastly forms.

“Based on all this,” Brock continued, “There was no way for me to know that you wouldn't harm her, so I used the only thing I knew that would allow me to take her with me according to Olympian laws.”

“The Favor,” Hades nodded again, eyes still narrowing, and he tapped a small beat against his opposite wrist with his long fingers. “To acquire her through the Laws.”

Hades was no fool. He saw the affection clear between his daughter and the young warmonger who's gaze softened every time he looked at her. His thumb caressed the inside of her wrist in tender touches, but that didn't mean he forgave him just yet.

Not that it is only Hades that needed to forgive him.

It was all up to Darcy and she clearly had made her choice already.

Hades instead demanded more information.

“Explain Olympus.”

“Brock portalled us to his mother’s island, and there was a lot of talking to be had. I met Ares,” all three snorted in derision and Hades once again looked his daughter over for damage, “And wished I hadn’t. Then Brock and I went on a picnic date. We were still in those talks when Iris showed up with You-Know-Who’s summons,” Darcy made a face at the reminder of that summons.

“Brock actually maneuvered an invite of his own and came up with the plan of distracting Uncle from any previous ill-intentions as this had to do with the missing lightning. At that point I didn't trust Brock completely yet but his plan did have merits; bonus, it was able to keep me safe. Keep both of us safe, really. You know how that glittery throng hates demigods almost as bad as regular mortals. The plan was to show him exactly what he wanted in an unexpected union to a son of Ares. A super arrogant and abusive husband.” her voice was soft but steady, her own hand squeezing that of Brock gently. “The All Powerful One was none the wiser and believed our charade, sadly, so did you.”

“So your union is consensual?” Hades bluntly asked.

Blushing a furious red Darcy nodded shyly. “We didn't actually …um, consummate, our union until after Olympus.”

Both of Hades eyebrows shot up in surprise.

He wasn’t surprised at the timing of the consummation; it had taken months after the abduction before Persephone let him hold her hand willingly, much less anything more amorous. More so that Hera would allow even that slight stretching of the truth to continue. She was more apt to force them into a bedding ceremony as in the days of old to embarrass them.

His sister was up to something.

“Are you telling me you _lied_ to your High Queen and King about the whereabouts of my daughter during that night?”

“No,” Brock shook his head. “What I told my grandmother the High Queen and her Husband King was technically true. Darcy did spend the night in my bed… we just conveniently left out the fact that _I_ didn't spend the night there. At least, not all of it; I did check in a few times before passing out in front of the only entrance.”

Darcy squeaked and buried her face in her hand before tucking herself against Brock. “This is so embarrassing,”

“Why?” Brock chuckled. “Because you refused my marriage proposal that night?”

“Don't remind me!” she groaned still buried into his side. “I was so confused by your actions and so angry with you and intimidated by your mom's magic and gah!” she trailed off. “It was just a lot.”

Darcy shook her head and turned to look at her father.

“Can you believe him, taking me to Circe?! I was frightened out of my mind and then she turns him into a pig and is all nice and nothing and everything like the stories of her. Oh my gosh she is so pretty! And just when I think everything would turn out well we get that summon and … well you saw what happened.” she fumbled for the right words. “It was only after Olympus that I started to realize he probably actually had _no idea_ that I was _required_ to obey him and he was trying so hard to win my heart. Dad, please don't be angry with him anymore.” she begged and then she completely knocked the wind out of Hades lungs. “I love him.”

Brock for his part pulled her closer. “And I love you.” he countered affectionately their lips brushing before their kiss deepened ever so slightly.

Hades was still mulling over the information he had been presented with when Crossbones turned his attention towards him once more.

“I would never intentionally harm your daughter.” he said in a firm voice, those alarmingly red eyes held a fondness in them he didn't think possible for a direct descendant of Ares. “To keep her safe and happy is the only thing I ever wanted and she made me the happiest man alive when she agreed to be mine… _willingly_.”

“We had a rough start Dad,” Darcy hummed softly. “But so did you and Mom, and I swear to you, we are happy now and we're working everything out. Brock isn't forcing me to do anything I don't want to. He lets me make my own decisions and only is a bastard if it regards my safety.”

Brock snorted and rolled his eyes in played annoyance.

“When Darcy revealed to me what the Favor truly did, I was horrified.” Brock confessed. “I thought I was a monster and had forced her affection. It was the worst pain I've ever felt in my whole life and only her reassurance that the Favor didn't force her feelings,” he trailed off for a moment and shook his head. “I would have never forgiven myself.”

“You are not your father,” Darcy quoted his often- repeated saying back at him.

“I try not to be,” he admitted and the pair touched foreheads.

Hades was not going to melt at that small intimacy that was more eloquent to him that the kiss they had shared previous.

“Well…” Hades began after the silence began to stretch into that almost awkward stage.

BOOM!

THUD!

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“What in the Realms?” Darcy startled, glancing at the door behind them, wide-eyed.

“Darcy, get back to your father,” Brock had drawn his stun batons, his concession to not having the large twin daggers he preferred in deference to her father’s arrival.

“But…”

“Darcy. Now!”

Hades’ voice brooked no argument and a lifetime obeying her king and father had her taking a step back . She looked, and yep, gone was the Alexander Amosu Vanquish II Bespoke suit with the 18 carat gold buttons and her father was decked in his battle gear. Only his Helm of Invisibility [really, Magneto ripped off her father’s helmet the envious bastard] was missing and Darcy was shocked to see the bident staff in his hand.

“Okay, okay, calm down, I’m moving, I’m moving, sheesh.” Darcy grumbled and moved toward her dad, casting a worried glance to her husband.

The air was suddenly electrified…the familiar crackle of lightning met the supernova of stardust, and it was hard to breathe until her father’s cool touch chased the offending power away. It was like spraying mystical Icy Hot™, a slight awareness of the power but as if it were outside her body, the barest pressure.

Darcy felt pale and clammy and she knew the magical whiplash was messing with her mental shields. She was going to have to do some hardcore mediating when she had a moment to get her blocks back in place.  
Magical growth it sucked as much as having a growth spurt did physically.

“JARVIS, who’s at my door, how many, and can I kill them?” Brock was all Commander and Darcy had a momentary surge of lust at how her playful, adoring husband suddenly morphed into this battle hardened warrior determined to protect her.

“Pardon, Your Excellency. Your Highness; Commander. Lady Jane is currently…assaulting the door and demanding an audience with Princess Darcy. Sir, has issued a lockdown of this floor in response to King Hades’ presence, but Lady Jane was already enroute before the lockdown went into effect. I apologize she got through my defenses so easily,” the AI seemed grieved.

“Prince Thor is currently attempting to reason and remove Lady Jane but she is … being most persistent. They are currently locked in a duel, but as Lady Jane’s magic is different from Prince Thor’s it is something of a deadlock. Sir and the Captain are on their way, as is Agents Romanoff and Barton, and Sergeant Barnes.”

“Shit,” Brock bared his fangs, pissed. “What about Banner?”

“Doctor Banner is currently…indisposed. It appears that with King Hades’ arrival the Hulk is rather … afraid. He wants to be somewhere safer.”

“The Hulk is scared of my dad? Poor, Big Guy,” Darcy’s heart almost broke for her fluffy-hair scientist’s alter ego. “I didn’t know he was that sensitive to magic.”

“Indeed, it was a shock to Sir, as well,” JARVIS confirmed.

“No, JARVIS, Tony is _not_ allowed to test magic on Bruce,” Darcy crossed her arms and glared at the nearest camera lens. “And you can consider that an order.”

“Understood, Princess Darcy.”

The pounding on the door was sporadic but the magical pressure increased as Thor obviously tried everything but physical force to get Jane to leave.

It wasn’t that Darcy didn’t appreciate the gesture. She loved her Jane. Jane was like the sister she never had. But there were times that Jane needed to have a little more faith in Darcy’s ability to handle things. And when it came to her father, well…Jane slapping Odin wasn’t out of character but that blatant and casual disregard for authority wasn’t something to aspire to.

“I feel a headache,” Darcy sighed, closing her eyes.

~~~

“Oh Jack,” Darcy breathed, patting his cheek in tender affection. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do this to you. I don’t even know how to; I never had a mortal acknowledge me before.”

“What the hell?!” Brock grumbled form behind them. Louder, he commanded, “Jack, put her down, now!”

“Oh, don't be too harsh on him Brock,” Darcy waved a hand his way. “I think it's my fault.”

“No kidding,” Brock scowled his own bit of magic not necessary. He had seen some Thing Thralls in his time with his father and brother; creatures who had the potential to become acolytes or priests and priestesses but were denied that bit of free will that gave those positions power. A glorified zombie is what his own father’s Thralls reminded him of; poor bastards and bitches who’s minds were no longer their own and served only for their master’s pleasure and power boost.

It was sick, and he hated that it happened to his friend, his brother in all but blood.

He knew Jack was going to be pissed, and Darcy was going to be heartbroken.

She squeaked a little when Jack pulled her closer and glowered at Brock. “Not unless Darcy wants me too.” he hissed before turning his attention towards her once more. “Oh your toes are so cute, just like I remember. Love the pink, we should do mani-pedi,” his eyes became almost manic with enthusiasm.

“I want a mani-pedi,” Clint and Tony both chimed and Natasha sent them a hiss.

Brock's growing anger crackled in a lapping wave of power against her senses.

“Darcy,” he warned but she could hear the plea in his voice.

He was being mindful of the Favor and it’s affect on her, but the situation was toeing the line and his patience.

“Jack, would you please let me down?” she requested. “You're kind of wet.” she mumbled while the tall Australian eagerly set her down onto her own two feet.

Jack was still beaming at her.

“Anything and everything you want my glowy goddess.”

Hiding a giggle behind her hand she let her eyes travel over the still stunned group of Avengers.

“Aww Jack-Jack I'm so sorry about this. I hope you don't hate me for it later. Would you please go inside and sit on the couch? My dad will help you, I promise.”

Towering over her with a besotted look on his face he nodded enthusiastically and strolled past Brock without a further word. That’s when Darcy really got worried; she remembered the sheer terror on Jack’s part last night that he valiantly tried to hide at knowing who her father was. Now, he just marched by without any concern and that told Darcy that shit was real.

This wasn’t right.

She needed to fix this.

Daddy would help her.

Darcy bit her lip and worried her hands together, and Brock stepped up behind her, glaring at everyone while he pulled her against his chest. Partially to soothe the feral savage within that his woman, his wife was fine and she was his and he offered what comfort his presence would bring; the other part to give fingers twitching to pull his now sheathed weapons once more something better to grasp. The world’s premiere shit-hits-the-fan squad was aggravating on a good day; today was not that day.

Clint gaped at her. “When he says goddess, does he mean ‘ _goddess_ ’?!” he squeaked, complete with air quotes, before pointing at Thor. “Like, are you really Thor's little sister?!!!”

“Of course not,” Jane scoffed but that caused another wave of questions from the rest of the gathered heroes.

“Silence!”

Darcy nodded her thanks at Thor’s command effectively stopping the deluge of demands.

“I'm not Thor's sister in blood,” she informed them. “And we will explain everything to you as soon as possible, but right now I have more important things to do than have all of you shout questions at me. I will take care of Jack first,” at that she glared at Clint who was obviously the one beaten up the most. “and then I'll finish my discussion with my dad.”

“Darcy,” Steve took a step forward for the first time.

Brock immediately pulled her behind himself, baring fangs at the Captain who visibly blanched as if he were able to see through the glamour all of sudden.

Which, if he was now in the loop, he would be able to. The glamour only held if one didn’t know what to look _for_.

If one was looking at whom they thought was a human, than a human was all they would see.

Clever, yet simple.

The best magicks were.

Eyes ablaze and fangs out he snapped. “No, you heard her, _Captain_. We will meet all of you in the Common Room in roughly an hour.”

“I wasn't talking to you,” the disapproval in Steve's voice was obvious before his gaze softened and traveled over Darcy. “Are you alright? I think that is the question everyone wants answered the most.”

Brock growled possessively while noting that the Captain's gaze had lingered on his wife's neck and ring finger, and the obvious displeasure in America's poster boy's face that followed shortly after realizing he sported a similar ring.

Peeking her head around Brock she pushed gently until he allowed her to get a better view. “Guys, I'm fine really.” she insisted. “Can we please meet upstairs in the Common Room? I'm really worried for Jack, I think I really messed him up and I didn’t mean to.”

Tears began to gather in her eyes and it tugged on the heart strings of everyone watching.

“ _Milaya_ ,” Natasha's sharp gaze settled on her before flickering both over Brock and the crown that wound around her head. “Are you truly well?”

“Truly and really.” Darcy nodded in affirmation, giving her favorite spysassins a wan smile. “Nat, I'm fine, honestly, but as you guys must have noticed there is magic involved and I need to take care of Jack now. I honestly have no idea how he could have gotten like that. I thought he was fine, he seemed okay when he left last night.”

“Some of that may have been my fault.” Natasha confessed.

“You beat him up?!” Darcy gasped. Clint’s groan and Bucky’s sigh were more than enough evidence the Widow didn’t do this by herself. “Wait, never mind. I really need to go now. One hour. I'll be there. I promise.”

“Darcy,” Jane began tenderly.

“Jane,” Darcy sighed. “Please….just, don't. I really appreciate your concern, everyone's concern, but Jack's life is more important than your questions. I am fine and I'll see you all in an hour, you understand that right?”

Taking a page from her husband’s book, she didn’t bother to wait for any more well meaning delays, turning and venturing back into the apartment.

“You heard the princess,” Tony clapped his hands, which echoed in a metallic way since he now wore his Ironman suit. “Run along to the elevator kids, we're going on an adventure full of not so fun stories and exhausting names no one should ever mention out loud.”

Almost reluctantly everyone seemed to begin to move. The combined disapproving glares from both Thor and Brock deterred anyone who still had thoughts of following Darcy into the apartment. Steve's own arms were crossed while he nodded for Bucky to leave (for now), both of them silently communicating.

Natasha gave both Thor and Brock a truly masterful look of 'harm her and die' before she, too, turned on her heels and strolled towards the elevator. She was not pleased, not at all.

But she was promised answers in one hour and there was now another who knew more.

One hour and then she was getting her _milaya_ regardless.

Clint gestured with two fingers the whole “I got my eyes on you and watching” toward Thor and Brock before walking after Natasha, muttering under his breath about freaking magic, completely out of it triple-agents, and flower crowns.

The last to leave where Thor and Jane, Tony having walked off shortly after Clint and now could be heard ushering everyone into the elevator and giving instructions to Jarvis for someone to notify his personal on call chef to prepare a quick meal or order in something good enough to serve to a King.

“I'll make sure no one disturbs you any further, my apologies Commander Rumlow.” Thor nodded his head towards the demigod who once again blocked the entrance of his home.

“Appreciate it,” he bobbed his head in respect and went back inside.

The door shutting was final and Jane shuddered, suddenly bereft.

“My Love,” Thor's gaze softened.

“I'm sorry Thor,” Jane shook her head. “I better go and take a shower, take care of this mess. Darcy is right and you are right.” she admitted. “I'm sorry I didn't listen.”

“All is well my love,” he reassured her softly. “I'm glad you saw reason and I understand that the Muse in you makes you very passionate about all the things you love.”

There was a amused smile on the corner of his mouth and his blue eyes twinkled. “Go and make yourself presentable. I have a feeling you'll meet the King of the Underworld soon.”

~~~

When Darcy ventured back inside it was to find Jack was lying on the couch, brightly smiling at her father and rambling about something. Her father was standing above him and chanting a basic healing spell as well as having conjured some clean clothes.

Darcy had almost forgotten that even Death gods could heal; she wondered what thing, be it creature or flora, died to exchange its energies for Jack’s renewal.

Inwardly she sighed with relief; she hadn't been too sure how her dad would react to Jack being completely besotted by her. But then again, he must have recognized the sign of a Thrall and dealt accordingly.

Her dad was cool like that.

No wonder the citizens of Hades loved her father.

The man led by actions, not just decrees.

Speaking of which, as soon as she was close enough Jack's head snapped towards her and he smiled ever so fondly. “Darcy,” he mumbled. “I know you said I should sit down but this handsome man asked me to lie down and it's really cozy.”

Jack’s slurring and overemphasizing of words were precious and Darcy had to stifle her giggle behind her hand when she noticed her father falter ever so slightly during the healing process.

Only she caught the barest twitch of his lips; what a troll her father could be.

“He smells so nice,” Jack continued on, breathless and dreamy. “I love that aftershave and his shoes,” another sigh. “Do you think he'll let me touch his shoes? They’re Louis Vuitton vintage crocodile leather. ”

The Aussie twang on ‘crocodile’ and ‘leather’ released her giggle and yep, there was a smile on her father’s face, not that Jack was paying any attention.

Probably why the smile was visible in the first place.

“I'm so sorry about this, Jack,” she told him and sat down on the couch by his head. “I'll make this right. I promise.” Darcy meant every word. “We'll heal you and then lift the enthrallment permanently, okay?” she questioned.

“Whatever you want,” he agreed happily, closing his eyes when she stroked a hand across his forehead and sighed in bliss. “You smell nice too, like flowers,” he hummed. “I didn't tell you yesterday because Brock gets jealous a lot.” he whispered conspiratorially in a not so quiet voice before shifting his gaze towards her father. “You have the same blue glow to your eyes, you know that?”

“He can see through glamour?” Hades asked her, vaguely surprised but curious nonetheless. “His blood doesn’t taste of any Divine lineage directly.”

“Brock gave him some kind of glamour unveiling potion yesterday,” Darcy explains just as Brock closed the door and came to her side, staring at his friend grimly. “Jack is like a brother to him.”

“He is,” Brock grunted turning to look at first Darcy and then Hades. “Can you fix this?”

The hand waving about in Jack’s direction obviously accompanied “this”.

“I can,” Hades affirmed after a brief hesitation where the young couple could feel the brush of his magic swelling, focused on Jack. “Fortunately for his personal agency the Thrall was caught early enough there should be no lasting damage. I'm going to teach Darcy how to properly shield both herself and mortals around her to keep this from happening again,” he continued.

“But I do need to ask; are you sure your shield brother hasn’t been in contact with one of the Olympians? There is something strange about him. And it isn’t anything that came from one of Circe’s concoctions.”

“I have no idea,” Brock shrugged, frowning at the question but giving it some thought. “He was always especially good in combat even before the Hydra serum. Maybe you sense that? It must feel unnatural or so I’d think.”

Brock had never been around another Divine entity that could sense the serum, but if anyone were able to, the Lord of the Dead would be able to figure it out.

“It's kind of an attempt to recreate Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum.” Darcy explained softly. “The one that created Captain America.”

“Perhaps,” Hades hummed neutrally. “It is possible that part of that serum contained a drop of your sire's blood, Crossbones, or that of your half-brother Johann. That taint does strike me as awfully familiar.”

“What?”

”You have a brother named Johann?”

The newlywed’s questions tumbled over each other, but it was Jack’s loopy giggling that won.

“Oh, I'm in trouble now.” he giggled. “Will I grow fangs too?” he pondered out loud, as serious as someone out of his mind could manage. “I don't want fangs.” he finally decided. “I would make an awful vampire.”

Darcy could only clap her hands over her mouth to keep in the hysterical giggling that threatened to spill forth, knowing it wasn't appropriate and they needed to heal Jack first and foremost. No matter how adorable his happy enthralled rambling was.

And the day started out so promising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you for my absolute lovely and awesome Cowriter [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> 


	31. One hour

The happy, blissful smile on his face might have been adorable if she hadn't ripped Jack's free will from him unintentionally. The cute little babbles and the sheer innocent honesty would have been amazing blackmail material.

As it was, guilt was wrecking at her heart and nerves like water eroding the shoreline, bit by bit, even though her father had done his best to completely heal the damage incurred. Despite those reassurances, it still grated against her nature and very soul that she had done such a thing.

She didn't mention the fact that Jack's knife scar seemed to have smoothed out a little, it didn’t tug as harshly at the rest of his skin and seemed to flow with the musculature underneath. She may have the sneaking suspicion it was because Jack had called her dad handsome and commented on both shoes and suit.

Her dad loved compliments.

He loved the sincerity of those compliments and lack of fear even further.

Between the courtiers who wielded compliments like manipulative blades in his Court, to the antics of his siblings and their cohort, sincerity was in short supply.

And he did know how to pick a suit and wear it well if Darcy could be honest.

Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling she scooted closer to Jack's sitting form. She did sober momentarily as she tried to keep her father’s quick instruction on the How Not To Enthrall Unsuspecting Mortals: A Guide To Harnessing Your Inner God[dess] For Good [Not Evil] in mind.

She got this, no pressure.

She could do this.

She had to do this.

Jack was depending on her to get him back to his right mind and she needed it so she wouldn’t drive herself crazy. She was nurturer for Frigga’s sake! She was not her grandfather, nor any of the other Olympian Hoard.

Brock watched, arms crossed in front of his chest, obviously agitated by the situation, absently nibbling on the inside of one cheek. “Will he remember this?”

He was not looking forward to the fallout.

“Most certainly,” Hades confirmed, nodding grimly. “From what you told me it, would have likely been wiser to have explained everything to him first and let his mind and soul work through and find its own way to see through the glamour.”

Tilting his head in a way Brock was startled to recognize as one Darcy often made, the King hummed almost thoughtfully. “You must have shocked his system with a full and sudden clear view of a goddess, let alone that he touched her foot.” Yep, there clearly was disapproval in the undertones of the politely spoken words. “Even unintentionally, it was enough to draw him to her like a moth to the flame.”

“But I'm not a full goddess anymore,” Darcy openly frowned at her father, angry at her own helplessness. “And I did not use my aura to enthrall him. I know how to do it now,” and here she shuddered in remembrance of her father’s explanation, as well as the first person testimonies from the Shades he conjured who had been Enthralled in their lifetimes, “ as well as how to block it from now on, but I didn't do that. Shouldn't I have noticed that?!”

“Baby,” Brock snorted at her naivety, then sighed. “You were kind of high too; we all were. Too much time among the Glittering Throng after being away so long and you’re practically mortal after everything now that I think of it. You have enough divinity that you reacted more like a demigod, so you were not enthralled yourself, more like soaked up all that magic like a sponge. Being around my mother and the magic on the island probably didn’t help matters much; I just didn’t see it or understand until Jack got you all strung up on power by his blatant appreciation of your form.”

“You aren’t responsible for that!” Darcy glared at him, offended on his behalf and a bit touched that her husband felt guilty in all this. “And I’m not some magical…sponge! SpongeBob Darcy Pants is not a thing!”

“I should have known,” Brock insisted, choosing to ignore the somewhat amused grin that crooked his mouth at her outburst, and Darcy huffed. “Sweetheart, you were all giggly and I swear, if I hadn’t had you in my lap trussed up like a burrito in that blanket, either you or Jack would have been wrapped around each other cuddling and giggling like some weird octopus.”

“I thought you were just jealous and horny,” Darcy frowned, trying to recollect that night.

“Oh, I was,” her husband confirmed nonchalantly, shrugging a shoulder as he leaned against the wall. “I am a very possessive man, and I did not and will never care for another man touching my wife. I don’t share,” his voice shredded in a slight growl; “You and I have had this discussion already. I didn’t mind the bonding over teasing me of embarrassing missions; come to think of it, Jack isn’t the type to just get all touchy-feely like that. Both of you were like an electrical circuit, feeding off each other. I wasn’t exactly unaffected myself,” he reminded her with a cocked brow, and Darcy flushed recalling how exactly she worked off the excess magic with her husband.

Poor Jack didn’t have an orgasm buddy to bliss out with.

“You didn't know what to look out for.” her father reminded her, and obliquely his son-in-law, and both started realizing he was still present. Hades’ droll tone indicated he didn’t miss those reactions.

“It might have slipped your notice or happened as a kind of self-defense reflex when he touched you.”

“Why would I feel threatened by Jack when he complimented me?” Darcy wondered.

“You’ve never taken compliments well or felt secure around men after a visit to Olympus,” there was a worried blue hue in her father’s eyes for the briefest of moments. “I don’t blame you, especially with what went down with the young Sun God.” Only Hades who knew the first Sun God Helios would ever get away with calling Apollo the Young Sun God. “Your inner magical core is growing stronger my flower; the scars on your soul are mending. This is unexpected; both something joyous and something to be wary of. The speed of which your magic is growing as well as the type of powers you are exhibiting…Be careful that the High King doesn't get wind of it; my brother’s curiosity is as dangerous as his anger or pride.”

That was a very clear warning and she didn't need to look to know that Brock had tensed at her father's words.

“Perhaps it is unwise to inform the rest of your so called Avengers of your true nature.” Hades mused aloud.

“Perhaps,” Darcy agreed but the look on her face said she wasn’t happy. “But they deserve to know the truth never the less.”

Unsaid was the fact that the three of them knew that particular cat was out of the bag if the Rogers and Hammerstein Broadway production outside the apartment with the Avengers and Jane was anything to go by.

“Not to mention that they will probably try to lynch me if we don't tell them what happened … not to say they won't try anyway.” Brock grinned and it looked like he was looking forward to it, his eyes crimson in anticipation of the likely literal bloodbath to follow that would be dismissed under the moniker of ‘sparring’ or ‘training’. “I can't wait for not having to hold back anymore and beat up Cap for real.”

“Brock!”

_Only her husband!_

“It’s not like it’s hard right now anyway,” he teasingly defended himself, actually telling the truth. It grated, truly, at having to hold back. It did wonders for his discipline but wasn’t any less irritating through its necessity.

Darcy's gasp of disbelieving exasperation was accompanied by Jack clapping his hands while chanting happily, “Let me help, let me help!”

Despite her best efforts a smile still found itself onto her lips. “Oh Jack, I'm going to miss your carefree ramblings.” she smiled at the now humming agent sadly, before taking a deep breath to center herself. It was now or never. “I hope you don’t hate me after this. Hold still now, please.”

Darcy’s eyes closed and her breathing began to slow down as her fingers came up to lightly rest and press upon Jack’s temples, exactly like a Vulcan mind-meld (y _ou mean the Vulcan mind meld is real, and they were based off us, Daddy? That is so cool!_ ). It wasn’t long until the pair were breathing in sync; Jack having closed his eyes with a satisfied purr that had both watching men briefly grin.

The magic was gradually beginning to gather in the room, and Brock noticed Darcy was also using the residual magicks already in the room to assist with the building of magic necessary without having to strain her personal magical core. Smart, he knew his mother would approve the conservation of available resources. Darcy could be and was already powerful, but she was also untrained, on top of living in a gray area between mortality and semi-demigodhood and that made this whole process all the more nerve-wracking. She was just as much at risk as Jack; it was unfortunate that she was the best option as it was her magic personally at fault, however unintentional it had been.

Maybe when he called his mother later on he would ask for her assistance in training Darcy. The two women had bonded and he couldn’t think of anyone who would be better suited for the job. If things went south after their discussion with the Avengers, he might just take his wife and go to the Island anyway. He would have to run that by Darcy first.

He hated to admit it, but he was glad that his wife’s father was present. Brock wasn’t dense enough to be ignorant of the fact that Hades was ready to step in if necessary; even Darcy knew that, at least subconsciously, and the safety net is probably why she was as confident and in control as she was at the moment. He chanced a glance at his father in law, to see that strong jaw clenched and eyes intent on his daughter, mouthing the words of the ritual in time, and his heart clenched.

Hades loved his daughter; he adored her and it was obvious that the feeling was very mutual and reciprocated.

What did that kind of focused love feel like?

Oh, he knew Circe had tried her best and he loved and adored her in equal measure. The parade of various lovers never quite filled that gap an actual paternal figure could have filled. And once he finally _did_ meet his father ….well….

Shaking off those perturbing thoughts, Brock tuned back to the ritual at hand, forcing his body to relax and willing away any doubts. In doing so, he could pinpoint the exact moment the Thrall lifted as the magic and Darcy’s voice having fallen into an unconscious rhythm reached a crescendo; Jack’s entire form instantly stiffened from its almost boneless sprawl underneath Darcy's fingers which still lay on his temples to agent readiness.

Fortunate for his friend and subordinate that his training stayed his hand at what Brock knew must have been an overpowering need to lash out.

Jack would have lost a limb or at least gained some bruises had he laid hands on his wife; Brock wasn’t ashamed in the least that his first thoughts were protecting Darcy.

A glance in his peripherals said that despite his intentionally laid back demeanor with hands once again in his suit pockets, Hades was just as ready to intervene. Brock even caught the slightest bit of fang receding as the Lord of the Underworld pulled his mortal persona on him like a veil, gaze centered on his daughter but no doubt especially focused on the man under her hands.

Comforted in knowing that someone else would have grabbed Darcy out of danger’s path, once again Brock found himself grateful for his wife’s father.

Darcy noticed Jack’s discomfort as the last of the ritual words faded, and instantly began to back away slowly, hands in his view at all times as Brock had instructed, and had to do a little awkward scoot to put a full couch cushion between them to allow him to sit up should he want to.

Moving a hand over his face, Jack wanted to as he did cautiously scramble into a sitting position, eyes darting just a shade too fast amongst all the parties gathered.

So far no words had been spoken and Jack hadn't made another move beside to sit up.

Brock huffed a little, unsure of this reaction, he had expected more panic or aggression from his brother in arms. “You're alright there Jack?”

“Give me a few seconds, mate.” Jack's accent was heavy and his words mumbled into the hand that had went back to covering his face. “I feel like I just came down from the worst bender in history.”

Ever mindful Darcy still kept her distance; leaning against her father who had tugged her further down the sectional to the very end where he stood behind her with a steadying hand on her shoulder.

It was only when the silence stretched too long for comfort she spoke up, “I’m so sorry Jack.”

Brock’s heart broke at how small and wobbly her voice croaked out her apology, Hades gave her shoulder a squeeze, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of her neck

“Yeah,” Jack grunted and then sighed. “I remember everything that happened; I am not amused.” he growled a little. The hand covering his face now joined its counterpart in running through his hair, fingers digging into his scalp.

“Jack,” Brock growled on his own, eyes narrowing as Darcy’s wilting head ducking was halted by her father’s hand on her neck and shoulder. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

“Hush, Brock,” Darcy interrupted, but it wasn’t sharp, just weary. “He has every right to be angry.” she chided softly. “I did cause all of this even not meaning to. I'm really sorry and regret it very much. We lifted the effects off you permanently; you're never going to experience something like this again. At least not from me and I’ve done the best I could to make it more difficult, if not unlikely, for someone else to do…what I did.”

“Comforting,” Jack humphed and this time it is Hades who growled, the very air dropping several degrees and the sudden creaking could have been ghosts. Brock swore he saw the translucent blue-white of a shade out of the corner of his eyes but it disappeared when he tried to focus.

Jack almost squeaked into his hands as he once again covered his face. “I told your dad he's handsome and smells nice! I asked to touch his SHOES!” and then blanched when Hades gave an amused sort of hum softly. “Oh shit! Someone kill me now, he's still here. You're still here?!”

“Calm yourself, mortal,” Hades commanded, icy politeness in full force, “You have nothing to fear from my presence as long as you do not attempt to harm my daughter.”

Though his voice never changed pitch, there was just so much menace, and the implied or else didn’t do Jack’s nerves any good. Brock was actually quite amazed at how much threat Hades could pack into so few words; His and Jack’s imagination probably had nothing on what the Lord of the Dead was truly capable of when properly motivated.

“I have no intentions of harming Darcy, Sir,” Jack pulled his hand from his face and although he looked quite angry, he also seemed to be struggling with a lot of other emotions, a huge part surely due to the King of the Underworld’s presence. “In fact I don't plan to touch her ever again; someone should register her feet as lethal bio-hazard weapons or something.” A brief pause before he swallowed, hard as his words registered as he took in Darcy’s eyes welling in tears. “Please don't let the ghosts eat me or something.”

Darcy turns wide blue eyes upon her father, the sheen of tears causing them to glisten like starlight.

“Are you completely sure his Thrall is lifted?” barely waiting for his head tilt of acknowledgment before she turns to search Brock's eyes. “Is he always like this?”

“Someone kill me.” Jack groaned while Brock smirked, partly relieved.

“Absolutely no one will kill him!” Darcy exclaimed throwing a meaningful glance at her father, who blinked innocently down at her, one brow arched inquiringly. “Do you want a cookie Jack? Would that make you feel better?”

It hurt to see the mistrust in his friend’s eyes as he gave the proffered peace offering a leery glance. Brock could literally see the cogs working in his friend’s brain, obviously wanting to say no but also debating the merits of rejecting the small olive branch. His furtive glances at Darcy’s father were also telling.

Brock began to rub his own temples. This was going to be a long day.

~~~

The sprawling courtyard filled with lush, bountifully large vegetation and massive mansions adorned with tiered balconies and stunning gardens brought a sharp pang of nostalgia for the Greece that had been.

“What are your thoughts, Athena?”

The soft, almost bored question falling from the High Queen's lips had Athena's instincts warning of a trap as the quiet peacefulness was interrupted.

The true question was for whom that trap was for?

One last longing glance at the almost peaceful vista before her, deliberately she turned around with practiced calm to bow before her liege. Taking the opportunity with the motion to observe the tall and lithe form of her queen who was wreathed in gold; from the color painted on her toes, to the soft slippered sandals lacing up shapely calves hidden in swaths of golden silk all the way to the very top of her head where the glittering diadem of her station was expertly interwoven between her own gilded strands.

Finally, her eyes roving to meet the ones of the High Queen, Athena spoke up. “I fear you have to elaborate, my Queen. About what matters would you like my opinion?”

“Oh, don't be tiresome now Athena,” Hera chided her husband’s firstborn, a mockery of a smile quirking her lips while waving her hand as if to shoo away a small child. “Tell me, Counselor, what you think about my husband, your fathers’ glorious and well thought out accusation of The Lightning having been stolen by our Exiled Princess?”

The Queen’s nails clacked against the handrail as she moved forward to her stepdaughter, her own gaze cast about the admittedly stunning view of Olympus that had so captured the War Goddesses attention.

Athena wasn’t fool enough to believe her father’s wife seeming lack of attention, and continued her silence as studied her Queen with piercing green eyes for a the beat of several hearts before carefully answering.

“While it would seem to make sense that any god or goddess denuded and exiled would take advantage and attempt to gain back their powers I do not believe it was the Underworld Princess who attempted to do so.”

Hera hummed absently and walked even closer, pausing to casually lean against the railing like a commoner all elbows and weight upon the cool stone, eyes cast down to spy a few floors beneath where her husband was currently sneaking out. The only sign that she was agitated was the short flaring of her nostrils before she wiggled her fingers in a command for Athena to continue.

“The princess builds a life for herself in the mortal realm; she has tasted true freedom from her obligations as a goddess,” Athena mused with the barest hint of envy flavoring in her voice. “She would be a fool to risk it.”

“Indeed,” the High Queen seemed to agree with her notion, now seemingly studying her own fingernails to tramp down the bitter bile that lingered in her throat as she had proof once more of her husband’s philandering ways. “What about the alibis?”

“I confess they are suspiciously airtight,” Athena nodded her verdant eyes flickering to study the High Queen's profile. “Both King Hades and Queen Persephone attended the festival and were accounted for,” she continued, stating the obvious facts. “And regardless if the marriage,” there was another short pause as both women rolled their eyes, “between Ares’ near mortal son and the Exiled One was consummated that night; there was literally no way for the Princess having access to Olympus.”

“Perhaps her new mother had a hand?” Hera suggested, side-eying her husband’s favorite.

Athena’s looks favored her mother, the Titanness Metis, in the rich, light cocoa of her skin and the striking high cheekbones that contrasted with those stunningly myrtle eyes. Full, luscious lips in a natural pout the mortals hilariously called a ‘cupid’s bow’ and her nose was balanced, not too thick nor too thin. The Latin script adorning her left wrist read, ‘Nosce Te Ipsum’. Know Thyself. How fitting, for the Goddess of Wisdom.

The Hebrew אהבה הקרבה ללא פחד כבוש script adorning her back was a bit more difficult to translate, and the Goddess would just smile at the two possible translations “love sacrifice without occupied fear,” or “love that comes closer without occupied fear” and refused to respond.

That same Goddess of Wisdom gave an unladylike snort and the two women shared a knowing smirk.

“With all due respect for Lady Circe, the timing does not fit. It would have been impossible for her assistance, as the Favor had yet to be used and so she couldn’t have possibly planned for that particular outcome. The reactions of our Lord Hades and his Queen showed that clearly; they had not expected that chain of events to have occurred. Not to mention how well known the Witch’s opinions of our cohorts to be; Circe would not hide from her actions, just the opposite.”

Hera laughed brightly at the words and turned to pat Athena's cheek. “Oh, you're precious, daughter of my husband,” she cooed. “I sometimes wonder if my husband lost all of his wisdom when he created you, if he ever had any to begin with.”

Wisely Athena said not a word.

A trilling laugh of genuine amusement had the High Queen pushing away from the railing before pausing, making a show of pondering some thought before glancing over her shoulder at the younger goddess behind her.

“A word to the wise, Counselor; Be sure your brother Ares doesn't get wind of your little side project; he's not been particularly fond of you since the Trojan War.”

~~~

Beads of water catching on his collar, Tony's hair was still wet as he stumbled out of the elevator and strode into the Common Room adorned in a suit, one of his numerous expensive fabric suits, not an Ironman suit (sadly). It had probably been one of his fastest and most enthusiastic 'Shower and Dress-up' sessions in his entire life. Not to mention the overabundance of the dread still plaguing him.

Normally a meeting in the Common Room or other conference areas would find himself as dressed down as possible but considering his current royal guest, it made sense to appear at least somewhat civilized and respectful.

He was so glad Pepper was in Malibu but at the same time he wished for her soothing presence beside him. Gods, Pep was going to be so pissed he wasn’t able to tell her first.

The cringe worthy dramatic display of almost reality TV levels from his teammates in the corridor outside Wreck-It Rambo’s quarters really made him seriously wish he’d never allowed the Team to live on site.

Frankly, he was far more worried at what might have gone so wrong that the Underworld’s King would appear in a cloud of unbridled power, not even attempting to cloud his presence like he usually did.

The Fates really were weaving like mad or maybe they were just mad?

Who knew?

“Tony,” Steve's voice brought him out of his musings and right back into the here and now. “Glad you could make it.”

“Hello, Sarcasm, I’m Tony Stark, I did not know you and the Capsicle were such good acquaintances? What lovely bedfellows you must be. How did you guys get here so fast?” the genius billionaire grumbled, noting he was almost the last one to arrive. Wilson was on vacation, the Scarlet Witch the Mini- Widow Wannabe and his former-AI-turned-physical manifestation of the Mind Stone’s avatar were up at the secondary Avenger’s facility upstate with Rhodey doing Team B backup team building or some such nonsense.

Can he just say he was so glad that he backed up J.A.R.V.I.S.’s programming before the Ultron fiasco? FRIDAY wasn’t so bad, but the femme version of his newest AI did the best she could in the months after while he Frankenstein’d J.A.R.V.I.S.’s code back to snuff. It was obvious he had a lot of work to do with that particular AI.

Bonus points to him because the Irish inspired accent seemed to make Rogers perk up in unconscious deference; he wondered if FRIDAY sounded like Cap’s dearly departed mother and so maybe – just maybe mind you – left FRIDAY online for longer than he could have before reactivating J.A.R.V.I.S..

Rogers had his arms crossed in front of his chest and to describe the look on his face would best be described as Impatient Puppy Waiting For Things. Tony willfully chose to ignore the irritable steel in the good Captain’s eyes and meandered further into the room.

Barnes was lingering nearby per the norm –buy one Super Serum Centenarian get another free for the low, low cost of Murder Hydra Wrote: A Play Seventy-Five Years In The Making; to describe the look on his face as glowering would be an understatement.

Casually leaned back, Natasha was reclining on the enormous couch, one leg daintily crossed over the other. Her face was unreadable, relaxed even, but Tony knew her too well nowadays to be fooled by her professional façade once more. Fool him once and all that jazz.

Clint was ever impatient. “Finally!” he clapped his hands and put away a bowl of popcorn. “Explain.”

Tony rolled his eyes in his direction – how that man was a master assassin was beyond him. “I will,” he agreed. “J.A.R.V.I.S. has the chef arrived yet?”

“Affirmed, Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. immediately confirmed. “The formal dining room is being prepared as we speak. The kitchen staff has arrived and the food is being delivered. Lunch will be served by the bots to guarantee utmost privacy.”

“Thank you, J.” Tony sighed in relief. “You're my favorite right now.”

There was a snort like sound from the speakers before J.A.R.V.I.S. droned. “I'm sure I would blush if I had a body.”

“Aww,” Tony gushed and made a fake gagging sound. “No feelings. I thought I wrote that algorithm out or it was absorbed by Not You In A Body. Make note for me to do that at a later date.”

“Of course, Sir.” The sass was so obvious everyone could imagine the eye roll.

Steve cleared his throat before once again speaking up. “I think you own us that explanation now, Tony.” The others’ murmured their assent – well, Barnes just grunted but he couldn’t expect the Frozen Chosen to have many manners after all this time could he?

“Not really, but I guess I will,” Tony shrugged, strolling past cushy sofas to beeline it at one of several fully stocked bars, stopping to pour himself a drink. Top shelf, naturally, even in his own home, Tower, domicile. “J.A.R.V.I.S., give us a heads-up if the Royals are heading our way.”

Taking a huge gulp he almost snorted his drink when Steve slipped him a fifty dollar note and drolly commented. “Well, we're all waiting for your explanation.”

Taking a look around Tony sighed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah I guess.” he huffed a little. “It would be best to wait for our angry little science bunny and Hammer-Dude, and the other four but I guess I can give you at least some heads-up.” and then he frowned into the assembled crowd. “Ah, no, we forgot to get Brucie.” he groaned. “J.A.R.V.I.S.!”

“I'll inform Dr. Banner of the situation, Sir.”

“Perfect, thank you.” Tony took another little sip. Screw it. He took a bigger gulp, chasing the burn trying to scour a path down his throat. “Also, throw up a chart of our not so little family tree but keep it blank for now. I don't need anyone reading the names speak them out loud without the usual disclaimer.”

Tony was very well aware of the attention currently placed upon his person and turned to look at each and everyone present. “I'm not dallying, I swear.” he ran one hand through his still wet hair, then again to smooth out what he just rucked up. “I need you all to understand that this is magic we are talking about. Yes, snort away Clint. I know how funny that sounds coming out of my mouth.”

Natasha sent Clint a glare that stopped his follow up heckling in their tracks; she was unwilling to wait even a second longer for some kind of explanation or rundown on the basics. This seemed like it ran far deeper than she had suspected and it burned in her very bones to unravel that secret.

“Thank you, Natashalie,” Tony nodded his head towards her, not able to resist his jab at her undercover work as his assistant. “First of all, I really, really need you guys to understand that you cannot, in any case, never, absolutely not, like ever, speak any of the names I'm going to show you out loud. NEVER. Seriously, trust me.”

“You're serious,” Barnes eyed him in a mixture of curiousness and gauging to see if he turned crazy. “But considering that you have Thor, Norse god of Thunder living in your tower I don't wanna mess something magical up and summon a demon or something.”

“Oh, believe me,” Tony shuddered. “A demon's attention would be easier to brush off or get rid of.”

“How promising,” Clint had grabbed the bowl of popcorn again. “I bet 10 dollars that Rumlow's a werewolf.”

Natasha hit him over the head.

“Hey!” Clint complained. “Seriously, have you heard him growl when he's annoyed? Anyone?” and then as if pondering. “Has anyone actually seen him on a full moon? I swear I have seen his teeth do this … _Thing_!”

Steve rubbed his temples and remembering back to the brief flash of fangs and red eyes turned towards Tony. “Please tell me Rumlow isn’t a werewolf. Or worse… a vampire.”

“Shh, Steve is betting vampire.” Clint rubbed his hands eagerly and turned to grin smugly at Natasha. “See it isn't that farfetched.”

“Can you guys be serious for one single moment?!” Steve demanded impatiently, tapping his foot on the ground. “Tony?”

Tony ignored him for the moment, put down his glass and instead of answering he asked. “J.A.R.V.I.S., is Bruce on his way?”

J.A.R.V.I.S. reply came promptly “Dr. Banner is as good as here.” and was accompanied by the dinging of the elevator which opened to a uncomfortable looking scientist.

“Hello,” he greeted almost shyly. “Tony,” he shuffled closer. “I'm really not feeling too good, are you sure it is safe? The Other Guy is … acting strange to put it mildly.”

“You’re going to want to sit down for this,” Tony advised and gestured towards the couch. “Now that everyone is here I repeat once again,” he paused and looked at every one of them, meeting their gaze for a moment so everyone got it how important this was. “I'm going to tell you a LOT and under no circumstances can you guys ever say any of the names out loud. This is magic we are talking about, and one single uttered word could kill you faster than Point-Break’s Magical Hammer.”

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Bruce checking his heart rate monitor watch.

“I think we get it,” Steve said firmly, crossing his arms in front of his chest and giving everyone a stern look. “No one wants a magic disaster; would you _now_ please kindly explain to them what you already told me and then further detail?”

Bruce by now had sat down on the couch and was looking at Natasha for help who gave him a soft encouraging smile, knowing how hard he struggled with the Hulk.

Clearing his throat Tony took one last glance around. “Anyone wants a drink? Yes, no? Feel free to go and get one at any point of my explanation.” before he poured himself another glass. “I'm going to start with the basics and work my way up from there.” he began. “As you all know, Nordic Gods are real.” Tony gestured with his hands. “You've all known Thor and we all know Loki whether we wanted to or not. Not mentioning all the other things those two brought along.”

There was a lot of nodding and agreed humming as well as a snort from Barnes.

“Remember no names out loud, all of you are fully mortal and that wouldn't end well for you, trust me. I'm just barely above a lowly mortal myself.” Tony reminded them bitterly before turning and gesturing towards the large TV. “Jarvis the fucked up family-chart please.”

**Zeus**

**Hera**

**Poseidon**

**Demeter**

**Hestia**

**Athena**

**Apollo**

**Artemis**

**Ares**

**Hephaestus**

**Aphrodite**

**Hermes**

There was a short pause before Clint managed to swallow his mouth full of popcorn. “Umm, Tony? That's a chart of the Greek gods. Not werewolves. I'm sad now. And confused. Why are there Greek gods up there?”

“Ding, Ding, Ding!” Tony clapped sarcastically. “100 Points to Bird-Brain. Yep, Greek Gods are real and kicking, much like Thor and his Asgardian friends.”

Tony let the information sink in for a little while, seeing the gears in everyone's heads turning. He saw Natasha open her mouth briefly, no doubt to throw out a theory, before she closed it again and waited for more information. She crossed her arms and scowled at the list, eyes narrowing as her brain whirled to process the new information

“Aww, thank you for the points,” Clint cheered before gesturing towards the family tree of Greek Gods. “So how do you, Science Boy, fit into all of this?”

“Any of you guys know or remember anything about Greek Mythology?” Tony questioned looking around. “Yes? No? I don’t care; you’re getting the Cliff Notes now. So, like in almost every story one of the gods couldn't keep it in his or her toga but luckily for my lineage it wasn't the head honcho, at least not directly. Nope, the lucky winner is …” Tony trailed off and had J.A.R.V.I.S. highlight his grandfather's name on the TV.

**Hephaestus**

“My grandma had a little fling which resulted in my father, the genius demigod. I on the other hand turned out to only be a quarter god, much to dad's disappointment. He had hoped he would pass along the full god gene and create another demigod with my mother, but that's not how it works.” Tony explained. “Anyway the gods like to come down for a little fun every now and then. Please, let's not go too much into that, yes?”

His grimace and tone must have been enough to make no one mention or question Howard's involvement in more detail.

“You're …” Barnes’ eyes were rather wide and he seemed truly surprised, almost shocked, something he hadn't seen on the former Winter Soldier's face any time before. “You're… part god?!

Tony waved a hand at him absently. “Believe me,” he snorted. “That's more like a curse than anything.” he huffed a little arms crossed. “You're lucky if you're just a mortal, then you get ignored, there's nothing special about you and in the worst case you're used as a Thrall. Male demigods on the other hand are often used or coerced into doing their godly parents biding, which involves funny little things like killing, genocide, rape or doing awful triple Agent stuff… all those pleasurable activities everyone just _loves_ to do.”

“Triple agent stuff?” Natasha repeated, suddenly straightening in her seat.

“Tony,” Steve began not obvious to the sour mood this whole conversation was taking. “If you need a moment…”

Tony waved him off and took another huge gulp. “Nah, I'm fine. My grandpa is actually a rather decent fellow, unlike some others. He made sure granny always had money and supported my father his entire life unlike some of the batshit crazy others.” he shrugged a little. “Females get the short end of the scepter and have it far worse anyway,” he visibly turned pale. He remembered when Darcy finally choked out her full story…and the resulting hangover for the both of them as they tried to drown out the pain with drink.

“Female demigods are hidden away from the Olympians … and for good reasons.” Tony croaked out. “Not much has changed since the ancient times. If you're female you're practically nothing more than a piece of furniture in the gods eyes, most are clever enough to hide them away,” his voice had almost become a whisper. “They sometimes use them as bargain chips or _rewards_ , so you can imagine why … why I would help.”

“That is sick,” Bruce murmured looking a little green, and not just because of the Hulk. “I might, I think,” he trailed off. “Is this getting worse? I'm having mixed feelings of horror and anger here.”

“I'm not going into any more gruesome details Bruce,” Tony's gaze softened. “I just needed you guys to understand why it is so important not to draw attention to us, to here, to them, you could not only endanger yourself but also Darcy and Jane.” he sighed, still pale, and took another bracing sip of his drink. “It's a fucked up world and both of them don't deserve to be …” he trailed off with a shake of his head.

It was then, that Natasha spoke up. “Are you telling us that Darcy is a demigod? Is that the reason you hired Jane and her? Are they both in hiding and you are helping them?”

Tony nodded ever so softly. “I did help them hide after realizing what both of them were. Thor’s arrival kind of put a big target on their backs for many reasons, but it's far more complicated than that for both of them.”

“And Rumlow? You said ‘triple agent stuff’. Does that mean he is some kind of demigod? What about Rollins, Thor said he was enthralled by a divine and it was by Darcy. He also said something about the fact that Darcy is a princess and she did wear a crown.”

Trust the Moscow Menace to have seen more of the picture than anyone else.

”She did wear a crown, a flower crown made out of jewels,” Clint interjected, nodding. That crown was really something and not anything that a former carnival thief would ever forget. Something like that would have fed the whole troupe for years.

His nose was turning a lovely bruised shade of brackish blue and black with the swelling Tony noticed. Helen Cho was going to get a visit to help the Archer out.

“And platinum,” Tony didn't sound envious, not at all. Who was he kidding? He absolutely was, that was some beautiful metal he would love to get his hands on.

Rubbing his own temples he took another sip of his drink. Thinking on it, he grabbed the decanter and its twin and kept them close. “Technically, Darcy is _supposed_ to be a mortal now, but at one point she was a goddess.”

There was a brief moment where you could have heard a needle being dropped on the floor before everyone started to ask a question and then broke off due to the fact that they were each speaking over one another.

Natasha and Bruce were the first to fall silent, while Clint was waving at the screen demandingly. “If Darcy was a full goddess at some point, which one was she?”

Rogers and Barnes where suspiciously silent, sharing glances and apparently communicating in that annoying way of people who knew each other so well no words were necessary. The tension never left them; they weren't pleased that they had to leave Darcy at Rumlow's apartment and now with this new information they were even less pleased.

“Oh no,” Tony shook his head. “Short-stack isn't one of _them_.” he snorted softly. “Berserk would have been dead the moment he started flirting with her if she were one of The Twelve.” another soft laugh escaped him. “Oh the pun – one of twelve. Makes her sound like a Borg or something.”

“Tony,” Steve quirked an eyebrow. “Focus. Did,” for a moment the Captain paused. “Did someone kidnap Darcy for her demigod status? Were they trying to,” Steve was visibly sick and was struggling to voice his concerns. “To use her? And if yes, I assume Rumlow is a demigod, too, like Natasha guessed?”

“Right, yes, sorry.” Tony grimaced a little. “Some of her relatives are up there, but Darcy's story is her own to tell. It's ugly, like, really ugly and I'm not going to reveal any more of her story.” before he continued. “And yes, I guess the cat is out of the bag. I told you and you must have notice Berserk's fangs and red eyes. He's definitely a demi. You're going to love who _his_ daddy is.”

Tony snorted amused. “Best decision ever to hire him, you don't want him _not_ on your side.” there was a satisfied smirk on his face. “Besides, grandpa just _loves_ that Armed-and-Deadly is working for me, karma you know?”

At Steve's blank stare he shrugged. “Oh well it's his secret to tell, but it's really not hard to guess I mean, look at him.”

“Knowing this,” Natasha mused. “Why the hell did you bet that Rumlow wouldn't continue to pursue Darcy?”

The Frozen Twins throwing stink-eye at the former Widow was just icing on the cake and had him cackling.

“Oh, well,” Tony shrugged and then grinned. “Because of who _her_ daddy is, of course. I was sure our favorite Triple Agent would run with his tail between his legs. You don't piss off the King of the Underworld by dating his only daughter and heir.”

~~~

“Frigga, I am so nervous,” Darcy worried her hands together, the sick clenching of her stomach making her queasy with unease.

“You keep cursing by Asgardian royalty,” Hades mused quietly, smirking ever so slightly.

“Better than the alternative,” Darcy muttered back.

“It’ll be okay, sweetheart,” Brock reached over to grasp both of her hands with one of his, and Darcy took a stuttering breath. Just one of his large hands almost swallowed both of her own, and she blinked at the contrast. The warmth that seemed to spark from the contact of their skin seemed to spread and tingle throughout her body, and she gave her husband a trembling smile.

“This is a necessary step, my Flower,” Hades spoke up, not quite leaning against the back of the elevator. Jack was pressed as far in the corner away from the three as he could in the usually roomy confines, every line in his body still tense. He still cast admiring glances at her father, still in his sharp suit and snazzy dress shoes.

Darcy made note to find out his dimensions and get him a suit and shoes as a gift. She could force herself to wait for Christmas or his birthday, whenever that is. So it wouldn’t have to be 100% a I Feel Guilty Gift.

Brock was still in the black tactical pants and sturdy combat boots he had finally dressed in this morning. But the tight black shirt was covered with the upper half of his leather woven armor, the Crossbones Crest prominent on the chest piece; bicep and arm bands holding various pieces of armor plating in place and leather gauntlets stretching the length of his forearm, bits of dark metal and other straps in place, some holding thin throwing blades in place for easy access. The gauntlets ended in fingerless gloves.

The twin blades he favored were finally once more back home in their double harness behind his head, the dual stun batons on hip holsters at his side. This only being after a brief debate that Darcy had won as she thought the matching Viking seax daggers were a bit of overkill in the vintage weapon department. This compromise meant that the guns had no place either, but Darcy wasn’t fool enough to believe that her husband hadn’t secreted any other weaponry about his person. Part of the thin metallic length wrapped around his left gauntlet with the ivory bone handles had to be a garrote, and she wondered how many other pieces of his armor were actually functional weapons in addition to the traditional defense.

“Arriving at the Common Room residence level,” J.A.R.V.I.S. interrupted the stilted silence, and Darcy shuddered in another breath.

“I have your back,” Brock’s rumbling promise sent the butterflies in her stomach in flight, and she gave another weak smile before allowing her husband to exit first, eyes and body on alert as he cased the surrounding area before a quick hand motion had her following after him.

Jack had moved forward as well, and the former STRIKE Alpha team prowled on near silent feet in concert together, clearing the way. They had decided back in the apartment that they would come up from the elevator banks at the far end of the level, as opposed to the one that opened directly to the Common Room spacing. This was to give Tony a chance to explain, as well as to give them a bit more time to unify and come together as a team.

“Prince Thor Odinson of Asgard and Doctor Lady Jane Foster are arriving on the floor in four seconds,” J.A.R.V.I.S. warned just as the far elevator opened.

Asgard’s First Prince stepped out, the traditional silver armor and crimson cloak of his station draped across his form. His once startling blond hair had darkened and Darcy thought the color suited him more, and she straightened unconsciously.

“Greetings, Hades, King of the Underworld,” Thor observed diplomatic formality, “I am Thor Odinson, First Born Prince of Asgard, Second Heir, God of Thunder.”

His half bow to the highest ranked among the group giving respect as a foreign dignitary without complete subservience. He was Asgardian Royalty himself – Darcy doubted Odin would be pleased if his son acknowledged the Lord of the Underworld as being a complete superior.

“ _Yassas_ , Thor Odinson, Prince of Asgard,” Hades responded, eyes locked on Asgard’s Prince, his own neck dipping slightly in respectful acknowledgment. “I am aware you are acquainted with my daughter, Darcy Macaria, known as the Princess Melinoë, the Blessed Death & Rebirth, the Balance of Life and Death, Goddess of Ghosts.”

Jack gave the slightest flinch as official titles Darcy had not heard in years spilled off her father’s tongue. Brock wasn’t quite so surprised; Circe had given him somewhat of a warning although he hadn’t heard them in full.

“I am, _Ἄναξ_ ,” Thor agreed, his All-speak allowing him to slip into the Ancient Grecian tongue without missing a beat.

“My daughter’s… _husband_ , the Son of Ares, Crossbones, must be known to you as well?” Hades made a motion in Brock’s direction with one of his hands.

To his credit, Thor didn’t truly show any of his surprise at Brock’s new relationship status with Darcy , though her years with the Norse God allowed her to see the barest hint of it in his slight inhale.

“He is indeed. _Commander_ Rumlow,” Thor’s slightest emphasis on Brock’s rank gave the ghost of a grin on her husband’s face, “is a fine warrior, and an even better man. I would trust him to fight at my side in battle.”

“Truly,” the Underworld king murmured, eyes searching but not finding the lie he was looking for.

“Certainly. I believe you are also acquainted with my Beloved, Doctor Jane Foster,” Thor gestured and Darcy smiled at her unusually subdued boss and friend.

Despite her lack of speech, the fiery scientist was all but vibrating and Darcy wondered at what Thor had said to her that meant she hadn’t been tackle hugged yet.

“My daughter’s _fílos kardiás_ , her heart-friend,” the smile Hades bequeathed the shorter woman was far more genuine and warm than the diplomatic one. “A Muse in truth, there is stardust and the echo of the Cosmos in her eyes. _Yassas_.”

“Thank you, _Ἄναξ_ ,” Jane blushed as she curtsied in a modified bow, her hair actually brushed and wrapped into natural waves and curls. It looked like she had showered, her inherent beauty shining though Darcy couldn’t tell if she wore any makeup or not – oftentimes, she didn’t need to. She was dressed in a flowing Grecian style one shouldered dress that matched the one Darcy wore, although hers was more a dark blush color rather than the deep blue of Darcy’s.

Jane had little jewelry except for the armbands that had Mjolnir’s image stamped in the Viking style gracing her upper arm on the left, and Jörmungandr twining down her right. The shoulder clasp was another gilded bronze piece in the shape of the world tree, Yggdrasil. The rayed starburst - _Helios tes Vergínas_ \- etched on the single golden cuff of her left wrist was Grecian in origin and a nod to her own House. It was an excellent representation of her new status as the Asgardian Prince’s consort while also proudly showing off where she had come from. She looked so much like that Star Wars actress only better and without that weird heavy looking headgear!

“We’re definitely sisters since we thought to grab the same dresses,” Darcy giggled, breaking into the tension and formalities. “I am glad we picked them up in Athens when we did the observatory tours of Helmos, Kryoneri, and the National Observatory.”

Jane beamed a smile Darcy’s way that she matched. The two friends had taken a rare day off from Science! and had went shopping in the ancient city of their ancestors, laughing and bonding and just generally having fun. They had spotted the “Goddess” replica dresses at a little boutique, and couldn’t resist. The dark blush of Jane’s gown just seemed to pop against her skin and they were so light and silky.

Indeed, the deep royal blue of Darcy’s gown offset the cream of her own complexion and deepened the tones of her eyes as well as the crown of jeweled flowers she didn’t have the heart to remove. She, too, had foregone any other jewelry, save her ring and a bibbed choker, the pendant being a flat skull that matched the one on Brock’s chest piece. If one looked closely, the links were actually the shape and ivory of human bone, polished to a high shine, with darkened pieces of obsidian connecting them.

The shoulder clasp on her gown was a single pomegranate flower.

“ _Yassas_ , Prince Thor Odinson,” Darcy quickly remembered her manners, and she felt relief at Thor’s hearty booming laugh.

“ _Geia sas, agapité adelfí_. Hello to you as well, dear sister,” Thor’s smile was impossible not to respond to and so she didn’t bother holding back.

“ _Ek misseð þú too, bróðir_ ,” Darcy grinned, happy to able to surprise her shield brother with being able to speak his own language. “I missed you, too, brother.”

“ _Hvat delightfulr overraskelse, systir_! What a delightful surprise,” Thor was pleased at Darcy’s attempts at speaking his own language, or at least the Midgardian equivalent. As a brother and as a Prince, that boded well for future relations between their respective peoples.

“Excuse the interruption,” J.A.R.V.I.S. interjected, and the artificial intelligence did in fact sound very apologetic. “But it appears that your presence in the Common Area would be most beneficial as soon as possible.”

“Translation: Tony is trying to explain things and he’s being ignored because he cannot seem to not make mockeries of things,” Darcy groaned, and closed her eyes against a headache that threatened to be a doozy.

“Very astute, Princess,” J.A.R.V.I.S confirmed.

“Let’s go rescue the Lady of the Tower and ruffle some disbelieving Avengers,” Brock rumbled, and Thor looked over and the dangerous smirks on their faces had their paramours rolling their eyes at the testosterone rising.

“This is not going to end well,” Jack grumbled and resigned himself to the dramatics that were surely to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love for [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> my amazing Cowriter. She almost singlehandly wrote this one. I send her a little something and she just went from there and _boom_ another looooong chapter.
> 
> For anyone wondering why we went with Hestia as one of the Twelve instead of Dionysus.  
> It's not really clear if Dionysus was one of the twelve, it's just popular myth nowadays that Hestia stepped down and gave Dionysus her place.  
> Greek mythology is wild and there are so many versions of the same myth that no one knows which one was the original one.  
> There are also something like 'Dark Ages' during Ancient Greece times where nothing got written down ...  
> And then they did rework their own gods several times (for example Aphrodite got turned into a love goddess instead of a war goddess ... yes, let that sink in for a moment) .  
> Let's just not go too far into detail.


	32. Knock Knock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh! Computer shenanigans and a missing muse?!  
> Things weren't easy for this chapter.

Darcy had a headache that was teetering dangerously into migraine territory and she felt her eye twitch at the atrocity before her.

Grown-ass adults and they were arguing.

 _Superhero_ grown-ass adults dickering like vagrants; a supposedly elite team chosen to be called upon to protect the Earth from high-level threats.

Arguing like little toddlers throwing a tantrum. All angry self-righteousness indignation and school-yard taunts and accusations hurled like unwanted bologna sandwiches to the face. The nasty kind on that weird white bread that got stuck in your teeth in clumps and smothered in Miracle Whip instead of honest-to-Gaia mayonnaise like a civilized person.

There should be someone to protect them all from the Avengers and their passionate displays of differing opinions.

So engrossed in the increasingly louder disagreement, none of the Avengers had noticed them entering.

_None of them._

Where was their famed situational awareness?

And was Clint _really_ shouting something about Brock being a werewolf?!

What the Hel?

Um, hello, but her husband was so definitely a vampire, the hot and badass Luke Evans Dracula version, then a werewolf.

Has there ever been a sexy werewolf that looked like a sexy werewolf while being a werewolf?

Darcy's eye twitched once more, and she saw Brock running a hand over his face at the display in his own sign of aggravation. She knew that as Head of Security he would give them Hel for this display, but she could also see the absolute delight in his hellishly gleaming eyes and she just knew he was plotting. Her husband was such a sadist she was coming to learn; he sent her a smirk and a sideways glance when she pursed her lips, gathered a deep breath and brought two fingers to her lips before letting loose a piercing shriek of a whistle.

The entire room jerked to a surprised silence, heads and eyes snapping to the unexpectedly shrill command, turning to take in the newly arrived group. Thor, Jane, and Jack fanned out so they were on the outermost arc of what became a modified semi-circle, with Hades flanking his daughter on her right, and Brock bridging the rest of the group on her left. Thor was to Brock’s left with Jane tucked securely between him and Jack.

Tony and Steve, who had once again been in each other’s faces as per the norm seemed the most startled. So much so that Steve took a quick few steps away from Tony, frustration clearly on exhibition which quickly morphed to a narrow-eyed tactical assessing of the newly developing situation before him.

Tony's face on the other hand, was flushed with anger that drained rather rapidly pale at her father's raised brow.

The clink of his glass hitting the bar almost hid the thunk as he dropped to one knee and bowed as the group came further into the room, right hand pressing against his heart in fealty.

“ _O vasiliás mou_ ,” he dipped as far as he could. “My king.”

The man of iron was shaking in reverential fear and Natasha looked as shocked as she had ever seen the Black Widow look as she slowly came to stand to her feet. Darcy had never thought she would ever catch the Widow by surprise but the widened eyes while her gaze flickered between a prostrate Tony, to Darcy, then Brock, and finally settled upon Hades, could only be described as surprise that quickly turned into a curious study of their personas.

Her head and part of her upper body tipped forward in respectful acknowledgment, not one to let a situation get away from her.

Clint sat on the edge of the couch and munched on popcorn like he had no care in the world.

Bucky's fingers twitched as the plates of his vibranium prosthetic whirred with the motion. Husky blue eyes rapidly switching between sharp blue and the pale granite of the Soldier, clearly assessing them as both individuals and a group, no doubt calculating their threat level. He too, followed the Widow’s lead and stepped away from where he had been leaning and executing a stiff bow without taking his eyes off them.

Bruce was now a sickly pale chartreuse and visibly edging away from them, body pressed into the back of the couch.

J.A.R.V.I.S, bless him, broke the silent stare off by calmly announcing, “May I present to you, God of the Dead and King of the Underworld, Lord Hades and his daughter, the Princess Melinoë and her consort Crossbones, Blooded Son of War, as well as Prince Thor of Asgard, God of Thunder and his Beloved Intended, the Lady Jane Foster, Doctor of Astrophysics.”

Clint was the first to croak out “Consort?!” between a mouthful of popcorn. “And you're right, Cap; he looks more like a vampire. He's taller too.”

“Clinton Francis Barton!” Darcy's nostrils flared in anger and she might be shrieking a bit but, in her defense, the chaotic mess the Avengers presented was pathetic. “Put away that bowl of popcorn or so help me Frigga I'll confiscate your bows and arrows until you've learned some manners!” she instructed. “You'll go wash your hands and don't dare clean them on your pants and get yourself some ice for your face.”

Clint gawked at her like a fish for a moment. “Dee,” he whined. “That's mean.”

“Clint!” for the briefest of moments she let her eyes flare a neon cyan which made him scramble to follow her command even before she snarled a “ _Now_.”

“Yes, ma’am,” a startled Clint dunked his popcorn on the bar and hurried to wash his hand at the little sink in the bar.

As he grabbed some ice from a bucket, she snapped her head back towards the Captain and the Lady of the Tower (aka Tony) and carried on.

“You, two!”

Her pointer finger was shaking with her fury, and the deity-touched could certainly see the aural wisps the color of her eyes surrounding her hand much like Wanda’s did when accessing her power.

Brock for his part couldn't help his tongue darting out to wet his lips, inhaling the now intimately familiar scent of her power, the normal vanilla cookies scent now charged with a sharp citron, and something he could only describe as chilled, as if the jagged frost of fresh fallen snow and ice had been captured into perfume. He swore he heard the rattle and creak of bones and the moans of the damned.

If he had thought it was hot watching Darcy knocking his father down a few pegs, it was nothing compared to her taking charge of the whole fucking Avengers.

“Have you learned _nothing_ from the Ultron fiasco?” Darcy snapped and practically spat at them, a growl ripping from her throat remarkably like one of Brock’s. To their credit, the Avengers had the grace to look abashed.

“Steve, you should know better,” her voice having become slightly softer, and more scolding, like a mother. “You know, after all this time that Tony, even though he doesn't act like it, knows what he is doing … most of the time. There is _no need_ for you to blow up in his face; he was only trying to explain like he always does. Not very well, but with as much fact as he can. You are supposed to be the leader and the others will follow _your_ lead. So _lead_ _them_ ,” there was power in those last words that had the scolded group flinching.

“Darcy,” Steve tried to begin but she held up a single finger to silence him.

“No,” she snapped at him. “No excuses, not anymore! I am so tired of your emotional constipation! Yeah, I get it; you all were worried for me. I love you all and appreciate it, but I have a killer headache and have had a stressful week. But despite all of that I had promised answers only to find you screaming at each other like it’s going out of style. You all are _better_ than what you have shown this far, and I am ashamed and disgusted. Disgusted!”

“And Steve…Blowing up in Tony's face is not the solution to all of your problems and I strongly suggest that you find the real reason for your issues with him or yourself and fucking deal with it like the gods-be-damned fucking adult that I have seen you to be,” she let loose and laid in on him.

“Every time, Steven! _Every. Single. Time, Steven Grant!_ You make snap decisions and fly off the handle, all judge and jury and execute your version of justice and leave absolutely no room for any other perspectives and Tony just takes it! He allows you to stay here in the Tower, _in his own home_ , despite the abuse – yes, abuse! He lets you lead the team that should be his by right and forgives you, time after time when he puts his literal blood, sweat, tears, and money into all of this that _WOULDN’T BE POSSIBLE WITHOUT HIM_! You claim to be family that he is your brother, and you treat him like shit on your boots. Well, _Captain_ , it's time you get your head out of your ass and thank him and start treating him like a valued member of your team and not an embarrassment. He is far from it and you know it.”

The absolutely stunned looks on the group was priceless.

Darcy wasn't done yet and even one of her favorites had a thing or two coming to him. Turning her attention to a still kneeling Tony who wore a mixture of surprise and smugness on his face.

“Anthony Edwin Michanikós Stark.” her tone had him jerk straighter in stance on the floor and his eyes widened. “Did you or did you not taunt Stephen to the point of knowingly starting a confrontation?”

Tony for his part was wise enough to immediately turn towards Steve. “Sorry, for taunting you.”

“Bravo, Anthony, bravo,” clapping sarcastically Darcy gave Tony one last hard glance, ignoring her husband's chuckling and turned to glower at both Natasha and Bucky.

“You two,” Darcy shook her head at them. “I am so disappointed. You do not get to lean back and watch them bicker like toddlers just for your amusement. What is wrong with you? That is not being part of the team or family that is contributing to the problem and _it ends now_! You guys don't need poor Sam to mediate every single of your spats,” she huffed a little. “Next time you step in. You have the power – Natasha, everyone looks up to you and fears you and you have proven yourself a leader despite your beginnings and you should know better. I thought better of you.”

There were genuine tears of grief in her eyes.

“Bucky,” her throat closed along a lump as she took in her poor broken Soldier. “Soldier. Your Captain relies on you to be his eyes and ears when his own are blinded and in need of your guidance. He will give your words weight and credence that no one else will be given. You are more than just the Asset you were molded into; the team looks up to you both, _use it_.”

Darcy was in such a mood that no one seems to dare or bother to interrupt her; she was glorious in her fury. Her glow very prominent and the glimmering sheen of cyan in her eyes combined with her pale complexion gave her a true appearance of an underworld goddess. Her luscious locks seemed darker and set off the crown in her hair. Crimson painted lips moved to strike down her adversary without the need of even lifting a finger. An arched brow could have such an effect and she wielded her weapons with skill and passion.

Brock watched her in a mixture of arousal and admiration; he had never seen her put the Avengers in their place before and what a sight it was to behold. Just sometimes he had been privy to her throwing Jane or Tony out of the labs, but he never saw her in her unofficial secondary role as Avengers Handler. Crossing his arms in front of his chest he did his best to suppress the urge to gather her up and take her back to their rooms as she went full on _khaleesi_.

This…this absolute stunning warrior was the woman he had set out to charm from their first meeting and he was thanking the Fates that despite their shitty circumstances they had found happiness and love with each other. A woman who strolled confidently into a room filled with squabbling super powered or super skilled people like a force of nature while managing to give them the kick to the ass they needed yet loving enough to scold them like a mother fed up with her brood’s shenanigans. He hadn’t been lying when he said he would set this world and any other to burn on her command. That was as true then as it was now.

The fact that she managed to bust Captain America and steal his balls while simultaneously dressing down three of the greatest assassins to walk the mortal Earth in centuries made him want to take the knee and swear his eternal devotion. The roiling flame of battle licked through his veins and he had to call upon all his discipline to hold still. This was not his fight, not yet, not unless pressed to be.

The so-called heroes better hope they don’t press that button.

“Bruce,” Darcy's whole demeanor abruptly changed from angry Underworld Goddess to her usual worried maternal self as she took in her favorite fluffy haired train wreck of insecurity.

She smiled at him softly and clasped her hands in front of her, blinking normal sapphire colored eyes at the doctor.

“I'm sorry you were dragged into this. J.A.R.V.I.S. informed us you and the Big Guy weren't feeling well regarding my father’s presence. I know he didn’t mean to startle you or Hulk when he came to visit. Things have been happening, and well,” she shrugged her bare shoulder and gave a sheepish smile under fluttering lashes, “My dad is amazing and worried and probably wasn’t as careful as he normally is when he visits me. Please accept my apologies for your disturbance. I promise you that my dad will do no harm to you as long as you don't try to attack any of us.”

“Oh, um,” Banner blinked, eyes darting between all of them skittishly, he raised a shaking hand to adjust his glasses, “Apology accepted? I mean, if things were…are…happening and he’s been here before …?”

“Oh, yes, many times,” Darcy nodded. “This is the first time the Big Guy noticed anything?”

“I think so…? He woke me up when your father…. arrived. He wanted to get as far away as possible.”

“Sadly, not an unusual reaction to my person,” Hades’ deep throated chuckle seemed to startle the Avengers as much as Darcy’s dressing down.

With just those words and a slight change in posture the room suddenly was his to command.

Darcy found herself falling back from being at front and centerstage.

Hades’ hand reaching out to grasp her wrist stayed her from completely retreating to stay at his side, thumb giving soothing circular strokes against the soft skin.

Tony immediately ducked his head back down and trembled.

Slowly, Steve and Clint exchanged glances and then gave their own awkward attempts at a bow as Bruce shuffled to his feet and jerked a bow Hades’s way.

“So, you are the group my daughter is so determined to oversee?”

Hades tilted his head as those fathomless eyes peered into the literal soul of everyone surrounding him.

“Hmm.”

~*~*~

Tony’s explanations sucked. They sucked so hard-core Darcy didn’t even know why he even bothered. Well, perhaps, that was a little harsh, but still…ugh, it wasn’t the best of explanations for nosy hero types.

After shocking them into stupor about Darcy’s father being the freaking King of the Underworld, he then launched into a twisting, rambling overview of how exactly a group of highly specialized individuals were able to be misdirected into not seeing what was right in front of them.

Like a child who believes that a blanket covering their head will disguise and protect them at night, that naïve belief and knowing was very powerful. That is the basis for glamour, the main defense of an Olympian deity or deity adjacent. It was a simple enough ‘can’t-see-me’ bit of magic that depended upon both a mortal’s belief and their knowledge of the creature in front of them being what they were.

The saying that once you see something then it cannot be unseen is truth as well. With the glamour then unveiled to a certain degree so that the mortal has a taste of what is truly there.

“That’s the danger,” Tony trilled, slugging back another shot, “for you mortals and us kind-of-mortals. Once you know, you can’t _un-know_ , and then you’re able to see what some truly frightening, extremely dangerous beings _don’t_ want to be seen.”

He dropped the slight glamour and allowed his teammates a chance to view a golden glow in his otherwise brown eyes and that was it as far as the physical manifestations he was able to utilize went.

He had some abilities with forging and building but nothing he could show off just like that, beside his genius level intelligence of course. Nothing fancy, like, say fangs or wings or the ability to shift forms to either an entirely different creature; or something really cool like being able to morph to a demi-magus form, or a partial shift of individual extremities to say, form claws.

Natasha was certain, despite Tony’s warning of the identity of which their Royal visitor was, that she was wholly unprepared for the bone chilling truth pinning her where she stood when those infinite eyes of the Lord of the Dead locked onto her gaze.

The intensity, that laser like focus…combined with something so dark and so purely _ancient_ far beyond any mortal comprehension; For a brief moment Natasha knew that this man, creature, god, knew exactly what deeds she had committed in her not so insignificant lifetime. The red in her ledger must have been an open book or a scarlet letter branding her soul, a frostiness travelling through her and refused to leave, settling into the very marrow of her bones.

 _I see you_ , those eyes glinted knowingly.

_I know who you are; who you used to be; who you still pretend to be, the ghosts of days future and past warbled._

_I._

_Know_

_You._

When that gaze passed over her Natasha wasn’t anything less than relieved though she never showed it on the outside. Despite Tony’s explanation, she was certain that the vaguely human looking man was _still_ shielding his true nature, and she thought, perhaps, that wasn’t such a bad thing.

For in those brief seconds when the Guardian of the Dead stared into her soul, the darkness and power in those haunting eyes mirrored and even exceeded her own.

What would she have seen of this man if she hadn’t _known_?

~*~*~

The silence after her father spoke went beyond awkward. It seemed that absolutely no one wanted to speak up –maybe they just didn’t know how?

The brief soul-searching glances with the team didn’t – wouldn’t – help these emotionally constipated super misfits as they were to a man and woman extremely private individuals just flayed to their innermost core with just a flick of the eyelash or tilt of the head.

Just when Darcy thought she would need to introduce the Avengers herself, Hades took control once more, zeroing in on Tony.

“You may rise, Nephew,” Hades nodded his head towards Tony. “The ancient times have long since passed and unlike my brothers and sisters I take no joy in such ceremony.” he hummed neutrally before continuing with the barest hint of amusement. “Besides; Death assures me you still have some time left before I _am_ your king.”

“Thank you, King Hades, my grandfather’s uncle. It is an honor to welcome you into _our_ home.”

Rising from his bowed position Tony nervously cleared his throat. “May I introduce you to my teammates?” Tony waited for the slight nod of acknowledgment before continuing. “Our Leader, Steven Grant Rogers, known to the world under his _nom de guerre_ , Captain America.”

Steve appeared startled but never one to back down from any challenge he made a stiff try of a somewhat bow. “A pleasure, King Hades.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” Hades disagreed before turning his attention back to Tony who swiftly finished the introductions, continuing only after he was finished, “Your troupe of mortal heroes is known to me and mine, Nephew. My halls have been filling with souls that speak your names in hushed and awed fear, Little Warlord. Particularly so with the followers of the Red Skull.”

Unmindful of manners Steve immediately interjected. “Red Skull? What do you know about him?”

“You mean what _doesn’_ t he know about him,” Jane snarked, her tone and accompanying eyeroll the biggest _duh_.

The unimpressed look Hades cast at the interruption was beautiful, Brock thought, absolutely delighted as the King ignored both man and outburst.

“My daughter has been through quite the ordeal and has stated her distress and need to rest. I would suggest,” and his tone stated otherwise,” that if there are further explanations to be had, let’s dispense with the pleasantries and address them so she may retire to rest.”

Even Steve, who had quickly realized the mistake of his outburst (this is not some army General you can taunt) seemed to pick up on the unspoken command and gestured towards the spacious sitting group. “You are right of course … King Hades, please do sit.” he offered politely oblivious to the fact that it should be Tony who should offer seat and drinks in his home.

“ _Moron_ ,” Jane huffed under her breath and Thor nudged her, giving her a meaningful look, “Jane”.

Of course, Steve and Bucky’s enhanced hearing allowed them to hear and Steve’s frown at the tiny scientist was deflected by the protective mien of her Prince.

“Sit, sit!” Tony fluttered about and rocked on his heels, back and forth as he waited for the mass migration to where the food had been delivered and set up by the bots before Darcy and her entourage had arrived.

Hades glided over to commandeer one of the single plush chairs, once again unbuttoning his suit jacket before he sat and gaze moving over the assembled group who shuffled into various places on the soft curves of the semi-circle table allotting each person a good view of each other and assorted sightlines.

Darcy sat herself on the bench cushion to her father's left with Brock at her side and she couldn't help the break of decorum when she leaned against him. Her eyes fluttered close for the briefest of moments as she felt her husband's arm move around her back, fingers ghosting over her back before coming to a rest on her hip; his thumb stroking small and soothing circles, the warmth that seemed to unfold at the contact made her feel relaxed and chased away some of the tension of the headache and situation.

When everyone seemed to have settled Tony spoke up. “Can I offer you something to drink, King Hades? Princess? Commander Rumlow?”

“Please,” at Hades’ nod Tony sprang up only to come to a stuttering halt at the semi translucent form of Jarvis appearing.

“Allow me to serve the King, Sir.” the British sounding butler, vaguely resembling the Vision’s form but _looking_ human, requested despite the gasps of the other Avengers around him. “I've served the King and the Princess before.”

The clicking of the safety catch of a gun being unlocked had everyone looking at Jack and realizing they were all once again standing at ready.

“Freaking ghosts,” Jack mumbled skin pale beneath his tan, obviously spooked but his gun hand was steady on target. “Just when I thought this day couldn't get worse.”

“Calm down, Jack,” Darcy tried to soothe and negotiate, her hands up in surrender position. “Jack, this is Jarvis, you know him. You talk with him every day; he will not harm you. He's been living in the Tower ever since he gained his soul.”

“Thank you, Princess,” the humanoid shape of the snazzy dressed butler bowed. “I'm honored by your trust. May I assume you will like your usual orders, your Majesties?”

“Freaking computer with a soul?” Jack cocked a brow and shifted for a better angle, the fair-haired avatar cocking his head at his would-be oppressor eerily reminiscent of the Vision.

“Jack,” Brock warned in a soft growl.

Jack seemed to notice that his friend and immediate supervisor was a little too close at that point; two pair of sable eyes caught one another’s gaze. The next few heartbeats were tense before Jack sighed and lowered his guns to holster them, grumbling about, “Freaking ghosts, mate. Can’t hit ‘em anyway.”

Once everyone had calmed down from this new development and the shock of Jarvis having a somewhat corporeal form (not Vision’s body, thank the Maker!) seemed to have ebbed down, drinks had been served by the ghostly butler who took obviously great pride and joy in finally being able to appear and be of use. Jack reluctantly sat down at the end at Darcy’s insistence, citing he needed to eat to replace his energy levels since no one was sure if he had eaten anything under Thrall or not.

Despite any lingering awkwardness, the group managed to enjoy the bounty before them. Brock waited until bellies were full and the drinks kept flowing before he started his debrief.

“As you all know, there was an attack and Darcy assumed abducted from the Tower Friday night,” Brock began.

“We all got that part, dude,” Clint interjected, sipping at his ginger ale. Sniper habits were hard to let go, and he had already consumed a good portion of drink earlier.

“Yeah, well, what I didn't know and what Tony and Thor conveniently failed to mention when they sent me into the Underworld to retrieve her was that Darcy hadn't been abducted at all.”

“Could have fooled me,” Darcy mouthed the words and Hades’ mouth quirked.

A series of “What?” and “Wait what?” erupted from the assembled group.

“Oh,” Darcy gasped out. “I forgot about that,” she turned irritated eyes onto a sheepish Thor and a shifty-eyed Tony. “What were you two thinking? That wasn’t funny, guys.”

“Well, you see…” Tony twiddled his thumbs and bit the corner of his lip as he hemmed and hawed.

“I was unaware that you hadn’t informed your beau of your parentage as it seemed your courtship was progressing at a faster rate, _systir_ ,” Thor rumbled an apology, swift to interrupt Stark’s half-hearted attempts at nonchalance, “I was truly sorry once I realized this, after Commander Rumlow was able to embark on his quest to rescue you and neither myself, or the Man of Iron were able to breach the Underworld’s first line of defenses.”

“Why couldn’t you, Thor?” Bucky spoke up for the first time since the whole fiasco started.

“Because Berserk is a demigod, and I’m not, and our native Gods seem to have an issue with interplanetary deities,” Tony snarked, fiddling with a fork.

“Indeed,” Thor agreed, still irked.

“Regardless,” Darcy interrupted, “That doesn’t sound like a good reason much less an excuse to leave out what is pertinent intel. _Jane_ wrote me about that and I was about to call, but mom snatched my phone away because she found it hilarious that a demigod, one of the God of War’s own get, would dare to enter the Underworld in search for me.”

“God of War as in …” Bucky perked up and Brock cast a look at one of the men who still stared a little too love struck toward his wife for his liking.

“The abusive jackass,” Darcy snarked at the same time of Brock’s, “Male asshole.”

“Pretentious wanker,” Hades contributed by making a displeased sound taking a sip of his wine, taking a moment to savor the flavor. He smirked at surprised looks sent his way. “That particular God is my direct nephew and we have, as you say, history. You failed to mention The Blacksmith’s grandson and Odin’s Heir role in your first recounting, Daughter.”

“My fault,” Brock nodded his head towards her father in acknowledgment, deflecting any responsibility off Darcy. “There were a lot of different things going on and it just occurred to me.” he confessed before returning his attention towards Tony. “Why?”

Tony was visibly wilting before he squeaked his confession. “It was funny at that time. I mean you completely freaked out and I knew Darcy would be alright with her father.”

“Withholding intel is not funny, Stark,” Clint growled, and Natasha hummed, folding her hands in front of her.

“Oh, dear,” Bruce grabbed his glasses off his face and began to buff them on his shirt nervously.

“Dear god,” Steve groaned into his hands. “Tony.”

Darcy buried her face in her hands; her shoulders shaking with either tears or hysterical laughter the group couldn’t be certain.

“Funny?” Brock’s voice became softer and the air seemed to tremble with his simmering rage “I thought some god or crazy necromancer had snatched her away with an Underworld Portal after an attack on what should have been a secure facility and you thought it was funny? There was evidence that a shapeshifter or other deity-adjacent was stalking Darcy and Doctor Foster, as well as Ker on site? Do you even know what they do with females when they catch one?!”

“Wait, what stalkers?” Jane frowned and Darcy stared at her husband with wide eyes.

“There was a Ker on site?” Darcy’s lips trembled.

“There were threats to my Jane?” thunder rolled ominously outside a swiftly darkening sky.

“Ker? What’s a Ker?” various Avengers questioned.

“Undead scum,” Hades growled, straightening further and pinning Tony with a Look. “Not any of mine. Mercenaries who owe allegiance to any of the other lower level kings or queens of the dead, or even some of the Twelve.”

“The dead version of Crossbones, gotcha,” Clint nodded, unusually grim.

“Crossbones was a cover for Fury getting his shit back,” Brock growled.

“In hindsight,” Tony squeaked. “I realize it was a horrible idea.”

“ _Frigga_! Tony!” Darcy groaned out - Gaia she needed a break - before she turned to blink at Brock whom she wasn’t sure what to feel considering this new information. “Your overreacting makes so much more sense now. I thought you knew who took me and … of course you don't have a good relationship with your dad, and a Ker…” she trailed off again and shook her head one hand moving to cover one of his to try to calm him down.

No one missed the immediate softening of those fury blazing red eyes or the way his hand lowered to rest on his leg allowed her smaller hand to cover his before their fingers interwove.

Natasha was the first to interrupt the silence, voice neutral, but curiosity and the want to get to the bottom of things obvious to all who knew her.

“Are you telling us that you purposefully sent Rumlow into the Underworld without telling him that Darcy is the King's daughter?”

“No,” Brock shook his head and turned his gaze onto the Widow. “I knew that Darcy is the daughter of King Hades a day or two prior to our date that night of the attack,” he informed them. “What I didn't know was that he wouldn't harm her. All I knew and experienced of the Gods back then was my own father and the High King. Both think little to nothing of mortals, demigods or women in general. I wrongly assumed that King Hades would harm her and finding her chained up in a Hydra swamp didn't contradict that image.”

“You found her where?!”

“A Hydra swamp?”

“Come again?”

“I thought you were with your parents?”

Where only a few of the questions shouted their way.

Hades raising his hand had all the questions die down.

“My beloved wife, while being a goddess of Nature and Spring, is also burdened with a uniquely aggravating sense of humor. There is a reason she is called ‘Destroyer’ and ‘Bringer of Chaos’,” the Lord of the Dead spoke in the false calm but the flaring cyan in his dark eyes betrayed his grief over the situation. “This made it okay in her mind to test the parties involved; she drugged Darcy and chained her in a swamp before releasing a Hydra to stand guard. She thought to play matchmaker and was delighted by a demigod of Crossbones’ pedigree daring to face the Underworld in an attempt to gain back Darcy.”

“Hydra?” Clint asked. “Like _Hydra_ , Hydra? Cut one Head off and two more grows back, only like real, like snake with many heads and not some octopus thingy?!”

“Yes,” Hades nodded somewhat amused by the bowman's ramblings before glancing at his son-in-law. “Persephone does have an overdeveloped sense of irony and is no stranger to young Crossbones tenure as a spy.”

Darcy could easily make out Natasha's twitching mouth, obviously the Widow found this image amusing. “I do assume he managed to defeat the Hydra and save Darcy?”

“I did,” Brock affirmed with a hum and a glance towards Hades. “There were some convenient vines lying around to choke the bastard, since I obviously couldn't cut off heads.”

Bless her father for not speaking about Loki's involvement and only hiding a smile in his goblet of wine. “My Beloved gave you a fair chance of passing her test.” he agreed with a nod of acknowledgment and Darcy blinked at the hidden recognition of her husband’s claim on the Rite of Acquisition. “She forgot in her excitement to inform me of her intentions. By no means does that make her actions right and they have been dealt with accordingly.”

No one wanted to ask what ‘dealt with accordingly’ meant to a literal God and his erring wife and Queen, also a goddess in her own right.

“Naturally,” Hades continued, “when I heard of my daughter being chained in a swamp with a Hydra on the loose, I began a search for her immediately. Only upon finding her I discovered she was already rescued by a Son of War,” like always her father's voice betrayed nothing but he switched to obvious sarcasm, swirling his wine. “You can imagine my delight.”

Steve had his arms crossed in front of his chest, the obvious displeasure slowly making way to his tactician self while he studied both their words and body language carefully. “I take it you're not on good terms with the God of War.”

Tony snorted at the question. “No one is on good terms with Papa Berserk.”

Brock's mouth twitched while Darcy groaned at the nickname.

“My father is the God of War, Rogers. Bloodshed, violence, brutality and if I remember correctly the untamed rage of battle,” he shrugged and flashed fangs and red eyes at the Avengers. “That doesn’t make for a pleasant disposition.”

“And a vampire?”

Everyone groaned at Clint's question but Brock only chuckled lowly, grinned a fanged smile at the archer and shrugged nonchalantly.

“He or one of my siblings is probably responsible for those stories. Some of the nosferatu lore is true, more isn’t. Several centuries worth of fear and awe and envy and misinformation and over exaggeration and boom. Vampires.”

“What’s true? I see the fangs, the weird eyes … the bloodlust?”

“Rude, Clinton,” Darcy frowned a pout her friend’s way.

“All true,” Rumlow shrugged but Darcy noticed he didn’t go into further detail either.

“Awesome,” Clint muttered, wilting beneath Darcy’s exasperated look and Natasha’s bony elbow. “I own you 10 dollars Cap.”

“Focus,” Natasha interrupted after a quick glance around. “I want to know what happened and then allow Darcy her well-deserved rest.”

“Yes,” Darcy nodded. “Thank you, Natasha.”

“Okay, so let me get this straight.” Steve began, tapping his foot on the floor. “You're in the Underworld, I'm assuming some hours after Darcy's abduction, find her, fight a Hydra and save her. His uhm … Majesty appears and then what? You've been missing since Friday night.”

“I’d found Darcy the next day, around noon I think,” Brock tapped his free hand against the table as he thought.

Darcy squeezed his hand softly and leaned farther against him.

Clearing his sudden tight throat he strokes a thumb across Darcy's hand.

“Emotions were high; miscommunication abounded. When King Hades appeared, he was certainly not happy. There may have been some…” here Brock floundered, trying to find a good way of putting it without offending anyone and Darcy snorted.

“Unnecessary male bravado,” she rolled her eyes and Natasha and Jane hummed in sympathy.

“Insulting the Lord of the Underworld in his own domain. Not smart man,” Clint snorted, and Bucky grunted in agreement. His hands – the flesh and the prosthetic – were steepled in front of him and he couldn’t take his eyes off the couple.

“Yeah, that,” Brock waved the insults away. “When her father appeared in a cloud of fury I wrongly assumed he would harm her. Knowing there was no way I could defeat a full god, let alone the God of the Dead, I used the only thing I knew which would allow me to take Darcy with me to safety.”

Brock paused in his story long enough for Jane to seemingly catch on, her eyes darting to the rings on their fingers before widening, her face getting a sickening ghostly shade of white.

“Oh no, you didn't.”

Jane looked like she was only seconds from launching an attack or worse, opening a portal, which usually ended up more like a Black Hole and cause disaster unlike an actual Einstein-Rose-Bridge which she still hadn't completely figured out. Her face was becoming quite ruddy and her eyes shifted into a dark purple, fingertips starting to create little swirls of nebulas and sparks of stars.

“Jane,” Darcy held up her arm. “Calm, my heart sister.”

“He did,” Jane gasped out, eyes flashing. “Didn't he?!” her nostrils flared. “Let me portal him somewhere for you.” though the request is more directed towards Darcy, Jane is looking at Hades. “I hear Jotunheim is nice this time of the year. Or Helheim...”

“No Black Holes in my Tower!” Tony jumped up and pointed a finger at her. “You're not ready yet and I can't deal with another flunky Portal of yours.”

A soft smile tugged on her father's lips and she realized rather quickly that he was begrudgingly approving of the company she kept on a regular basis.

“I can throw him into the sun too?” Jane suggested with a fake innocent shrug but a viscous snarl on her lips. “Helios might like that offering.”

“Jane,” Darcy might have whined a little, sue her. “Really it's not necessary. Please keep in mind everything we just told you. He did in fact think he was saving me, and a lot of things did happen since Friday. He actually did save me from another one’s of the High King’s schemes later. Besides, Helios stepped down and You-Know-Who took over.”

Both women made a face at the hinting of Apollo’s new-ish position.

“Oh!” Tony gasped finally too catching on what was going on. “You used a Favor? You had a _Favor_?!” he questioned. “Do you know how much money I would have paid you for a Favor!?”

That made Brock's head snap towards him, as well as Jane and Darcy looking at him in disbelief while Hades hid a low chuckle in his wine glass. His nephew’s grandson was certainly entertaining.

“Stark,” Brock almost growled out. “No money in the world would have bought you that Favor! It is earned never purchased.”

This was accompanied with Darcy's gasped, “Tony, I can't believe you right now.”

“What?” he questioned. “Obviously everything turned out fine or else he wouldn't be sitting here, alive I mean.”

Steve cleared his throat, “Can someone please clue us in what is going on?”

“Pretty sure you're not going to like the answer to that, Cap,” Brock groaned, running his free hand through his hair in aggravation. “Cause I did fuck up.”

Darcy nodded as she smiled at her husband in reassurance.

“As Tony guessed, everything turned out for the best and I did forgive him for being a butt head.” there was a disbelieving snort from Jane's direction that made Darcy giggle, before she continued. “Brock had a Favor of the Gods, which means he could ask for anything he wanted, and every god was bound by magic to follow and enforce that demand or wish.” she explained calmly, though Brock was the only one who felt her hand shaking beneath the table. “So when he faced my furious father, Brock assumed my dad would harm me and thus used the Favor to … make me his wife to keep me safe.”

“Darcy,” Brock grumbled. “I can explain myself.”

“Yes,” she nodded and softly squeezed his hand. “I know. Besides, I just know that all you Avengers are going to wait for the full story before exploding into accusations, _this_ time, won't you?”

Darcy's arched brow had a striking resemblance to both her father and somehow to the Black Widow's No-Nonsense face. Thought it looked like most of them still had questions and a few of them obviously weren't pleased at all by the news, most seemed to take her word for it and waited for the rest of the story.

“How?” Bucky grunted out. “How did he just marry you in the middle of a … swamp? And how would that save you from your father?”

“Ugh, there is this extremely misogynistic and terribly old-fashioned idea that we -as in all of the Olympian born - are required to adhere to. It’s a truly horrible and ancient law called the Rights of Acquisition. Short story is, Olympians consider women to be subpar citizens, just barely above servants, but still property. Daughters are especially high value assets. Combined with a God’s Favor, the Rights of Acquisition allowed Brock to claim me as his wife, then and there, no ceremony or dowry necessary, for services rendered and no one, not even my father, could deny him.”

Darcy stole her husband’s still full glass and downed it.

“Darcy basically went from King Hades’ ‘ _property_ ’ to being Brock’s property,” Jane sneered and the look of shocked outrage on the Avengers faces soothed a wound Darcy usually ignored.

“Harsh, but relevant. Since I was now Brock’s by this Favor, when he left – thinking he was saving me, please remember guys! Natasha, I see you with that knife, put it down! Anyway, Brock claiming me for his own meant that when he escaped, he could and did take me with him. If I was truly in danger of my father – which I wasn’t! – then this was actually a very smart way around a bunch of laws and bureaucracy and diplomatic ickiness.”

“Why?” Steve asked, reeling from everything he was hearing. His fists were clenched as tightly as his jaw – what in the world was wrong with Darcy’s people? To treat women as little more than prized broodmares. “As Princess of the Underworld, wouldn’t you be safe?”

“You poor, poor man,” Jane grumbled, leaning against Thor and casting glares at the mortal men around the table as if they were directly responsible.

“The High King isn't particularly fond of me.” Darcy began and Brock growled along with Hades as the two men realized where Darcy was going with this. “Like Tony explained to you I once was a full goddess…”

With that Darcy started her story.

More than one glass was emptied and refilled during her tale.

~~~

“You both are freaking geniuses!” Stark announced with a laugh, shaking his head. “I can't believe you played the Big Golden Sparky like that.” He was still shaking his head. “I mean bad Rambo, BAD. For using a Favor, but the outcome really makes up for it.” Tony almost snorted and picked up a plate with appetizer offering them in a wide arc. “Caviar?”

The groans of full bellies and Darcy’s nose scrunch -ew, fish eggs, no thank you! – and Tony put the platter down.

“I can't believe you're okay with this!” Steve clearly wasn't happy, arms crossed in front of him he glowered at Brock in particular. “He used magic to force her into marriage, how can you just brush that off?”

“Did you not hear a word they said?” Jane snapped at him, eyes switching to a glowing purple which caused the Super Soldier to flinch backward in surprise. “I'm not happy with him either,” she pointed a finger towards Brock threateningly. “If you harm her or use her in any way, I'm going to port you somewhere.”

“Get in line,” Natasha muttered sending a truly impressive Widow glare.

Jane snarled and turned back towards Steve. “But they are clearly happy! Darcy very clearly stated that she is okay with the outcome and I know her. Favor or not, she would be able to give him Hel if she was unwilling.”

“I would.” Darcy agreed at the same time as Brock said, “She would.”

Both shared a brief glance and a knowing smirk.

“How could she do anything to him?” Steve persisted and Darcy had just about had it.

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe ripping his damn soul out of his body and using him as my personal plaything might have been an option,” she deadpanned, and Brock snorted in laughter even as Jack quaked in the corner he had placed himself as bodyguard after eating enough that Darcy couldn’t force him to stay at the table any longer.

Ah, poor Cap, Brock made a jeering face at the Man with a Plan.

He truly had no idea that Darcy was speaking the truth.

Brock only hoped he was around to see the good Captain’s face if she did pull someone’s soul out of their body. Not his of course, but someone else, an enemy perhaps?

Think of the interrogation possibilities …. He shuddered in pleasure.

Hades looked intrigued at his daughter’s choice of threat and leave it to Thor to bridge the stunned silence.

“While I can't say I am happy about how Commander Rumlow acquired my beloved systir as his bride,” Thor began, hoping to ease the frustrations he could see in his teammate’s eyes. “He proved a worthy companion more than once and kept her safe against both assumed and very real threats to her person. So long as my lightning systir finds him worthy, so shall Asgard.” Thor turned his blue eyes intensely upon Brock, the blue almost fading into white. “Consider yourself a battle-brother of Asgard from now on. If you require help in a battle you may call upon me through Heimdall but be aware that I may also call upon you to return the sentiment.”

There was no need for Thor to voice the unspoken 'shovel talk' inherent in his speech; there was no doubt, that the Nordic God of Thunder would strike him down if he felt like his systir's honor was threatened or if he harmed her in any way.

Bucky kept silence, obviously analyzing the situation. His eyes shifting between a stormy gray and his usual blue. The Soldier in him obviously struggling with the new threat level revealed to him, trying to come up with a strategy of how best to fight this newly discovered dangers in case things went south.

Steve threw his hands in the air. “I can't believe any of you.” he snapped, disappointed. “I'm going to hit something.”

With those words he stalked out of the Common Room at a fast pace.

“Rude,” Tony razzed, glaring at the direction the Capsicle stormed off at.

Bucky rose slowly and gave another stiff bow towards King Hades, clearly noticing the worried gnawing Darcy inflicted to her bottom lip.

“I'll make sure the punk doesn't do anything stupid, don't worry, Doll.” he assured her. “I'll keep an eye on him.”

“Thank you, Bucky,” Darcy instantly beamed at him, relieved. “I appreciate it.”

Bucky nodded and tried to appease the situation his best friend caused, “He's just worried. And pissed that you or any woman really, would be considered less than dirt, and that it is normal to be passed from one man to another…I don’t blame him. His ma worked herself to death providing for him as a single widow and that kind of thing he’s especially sensitive to. We both are.”

“Understandable,” Brock jerked his head up to meet the Soldier's gaze. “But I'm not going to harm her.”

“Duly noted,” Bucky answered before his voice got a little colder and his accent noticeably shifted, the Russian flavoring his words in thick threat . “Demigod or not, I'm a very good assassin.”

Smirking Brock nodded once.

“Duly noted.”

His eyes flared an answering crimson to the Soldier’s winter gray hue.

Darcy almost smirked, her husband was getting such a kick out of all the shovel talks he was receiving. She could almost feel him vibrating beside her and she assumed he had hoped for a little more physical kind of shovel talk. Though she had the sneaking suspicion he would venture into the gym at some point and accidentally run into at least two or more Avengers there.

“Bruce,” she asked softly once Bucky had taken his leave, noting the way the shy doctor was still rather pale and nervous. “Are you alright?”

“Honestly? No,” he confessed. “It's one of those rare occasions I want to let the Hulk run wild on … your relatives.”

Tony laughed brilliantly at the confession. “Oh, Brucie! I would pay to see you do that, I really would.”

“We’re not paying people to annoy Olympus, Tony,” Darcy sighed, eyes shutting against the throb of a migraine that just kept increasing in intensity. Hades casually leaned in his chair, and if his foot stretched out and touched his daughter’s briefly, well, all that power had to go somewhere might as well ease his Flower’s pain if he could.

Natasha smirked with a soft nod of approval of Bruce’s desire, while Clint eyed the popcorn bowl hungrily. He would never learn.

“I have a potion that could take you there,” Brock threw in with a wide smirk on his face while ignoring Darcy's gasped outrage at the suggestion and instead followed up with, “I'll even give you a second one to come back home and give you some pointers.”

In the end they managed to wrap it all up without bloodshed, much to Darcy's relief and Brock's semi-disappointment. It seemed the Avengers could be at least a little tactful with three Royals among them, or maybe it was just the fear of the God of the Dead sitting on Tony's plush couch chair like it was a throne?

No one would confess either way.

~~~

After dinner and all the explanations and lots of hugging with the still present Avenger’s, and even more assurances that she was indeed fine, Darcy finally managed to excuse her and Brock from the Common Area and they moved towards the elevator to return to their rooms.

Her father thankfully was okay with another tight hug and promised to visit soon before simply disappearing. Brock didn't miss the long stare the King of the Underworld had sent his way, he understood although he was safe from immediate death at the hand of the God, he would still be watched closely.

Probably forever – the rest of his mortal lifespan and eternity in Hades.

“Rest well,” Jane told her, stepping closer. “And don't you dare think to come into work tomorrow. You can check in, but you need some rest.”

Darcy laughed softly at the scolding scientist. “My Janey,” she smiled. “All grown up and looking after me, not the other way around.” she sighed jokingly and beamed at the slender astrophysicist. “I’m so proud of you.”

Both women hugged once more before saying their goodbyes for the afternoon.

While it was far from evening, Darcy was exhausted and as soon as she turned, she found herself swept of her feet and pulled against her husband's chest.

“Brock,” she giggled softly. “What are you doing?”

“Well,” he started, smirk firmly in place while his hand squeezed her ass. “My poor wifey is _obviously_ exhausted. So, being the good husband that I am, I get to carry you home, hmm?”

Leaning her head against his shoulder with a tired sigh she mumbled. “You're always a good husband.”

“Oh I'm feeling the love,” Clint laughed loudly from the couch, once again snacking on the popcorn. “Go vampire, go!”

Darcy flipped him off over Brock's shoulder, feeling her husband chuckle at her action.

“Jack,” Brock nodded his head towards his brother. “You can run security for a little while longer? I'm back on duty tomorrow if that is alright.”

Jack just rolled his eyes at him. “You need a break mate,” he muttered. “A freaking long and honeymooner break to get all this touchy feely out of your system.”

~~~

“Hi,” an utterly feminine voice startled Cameron Klein from his concentration on the screen before him.

Looking up he blinked at the absolute stunning woman standing in front of his desk with a shy smile on her face. She clutched a clipboard in front her chest and blinked wide blue eyes at him. Or were they green? He wasn't too sure. Was her hair blonde? Or was it brunette?

“Oh, uh, hey, hi?”

What an idiot, Cameron could have smacked himself in the head. He got nervous around attractive women, what was that even?

Her pale features seemed to darken, or was she dark complected and the light was refracting? What the hell, Klein?

Cameron gave himself a shake and tried to focus.

“You're Mr. Klein?” she spoke again and any thoughts he had on her eye or hair or skin tone vanished from his thoughts like they were never there, and he found himself nodding, unable to form words.

“I'm so sorry to bother you,” she said walking closer and trailed a finger over his arm, it felt like he was tingling all over. “But I need to steal your time for a moment. I'm in need of a special clearance and heard you're the guy to help me out. You will help me out, won't you?”

She blinked those mesmerizing eyes at him and all he could think of was doing exactly what she wanted.

“Sure,” he found himself answering. Not even batting an eye when she handed him the clipboard. He did his best to return her smile, his insides strangely fuzzy, his mind not even bothering to think of how this total stranger managed to get into a highly secured room without a name tag or guest pass. “I can do that.”

~~~

Brock stared down at the sleeping woman in his arms, a soft look on his face while he stroked a loose strand of hair away. Even this soft touch caused her to move her cheek against his fingers and sigh softly in her slumber, a content look on her face before she drifted back into a deeper sleep.

His poor little goddess was exhausted.

She hadn't even protested when he carried her straight to the bedroom and laid her down onto the rumpled sheets, right in between the pillows she had thrown into a chaotic pattern all around her. Darcy did protest though when he gently but firmly pushed her back onto the bed, before proceeding to carefully remove her shoes.

If his fingers brushed across her skin more and far longer than necessary, she hadn't voiced a complaint, even helped him open the pomegranate brooch on her shoulder and allowed him to slip the silky dress off her body.

He had grabbed her one of his shirts and a fuzzy pair of pink socks with pretzels on them and when he turned, she was sitting on the bed, carefully untangling her crown from her tresses. Her eyes closed against the light.

The crown he was careful to place within his wardrobe, knowing the protective wards around his arsenal would ensure if some suicidal thief made it this far they wouldn’t be able to find this.

The curtains where pulled close shortly afterwards and he slipped into bed beside her when she laid down. Her soft plush lips had brushed against his, her eyes closed in pain from her migraine, the medicine he had given her not having kicked in yet.

“I love you,” she told him.

“And I you.”

“I feel like this went too well,” she confessed softly, snuggling into his side. “Promise me that everything will still be fine when I wake up?”

Brock huffed softly and kissed her forehead. “I'll do my best sweetheart.” he hummed, agreeing. It had gone well, suspiciously well in fact. “Go to sleep now.”

No sooner had he spoken she let out a soft sigh and her breathing ebbed out, her body going limp in sleep and he wondered briefly if it had counted as an order and she just let it run its course, dragging her off to sleep.

They did have a conversation about the effects of the Favor on her and while she did assure him that she could ignore his wishes if he voiced them casually, he often wondered just how much of what they talked about influenced her.

His fingers once again brushed over her cheek and down her neck which sported the marks he had sucked into existence. Bright and clear against her skin, his own healing would have taken care of those marks hours earlier, he would need to ask his mother for some more healing salve.

Not that Darcy had complained but he had seen her rubbing some of them unconsciously during the entire day. She didn’t seem to mind them but he didn’t know if it was an unconscious yes, I love these or yes these hurt. He knew which he would prefer it to be but he’d have to remember to ask.

His wards flaring up had him alarmed and standing in a matter of seconds. Grabbing his double blades from their sheaths beside his bed, he carefully ventured towards the entrance door, having deliberately shutting the door to the bedroom behind him.

There was a knock on his door and his senses were tingling with the presence of a deity, a well-hidden deity but a deity, there was no doubt about it.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes Commander Rumlow?” the A.I. questioned. “How may I be of assistance?”

“Who is at my door?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like always a huge thank you for my glorious cowriter [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> 


	33. Who's there?

Steve was attempting to work out his aggression on some punching bags, Bucky wordlessly holding them in place for him until the Captain finally started to curse up a storm and told him about his dream.

A dream where Peggy warned him about the “Son of War”; however, in his dream the name of said god had actually been spoken out loud.

That couldn't be a coincidence could it?

He hadn't known about Olympian gods being real back then.

That Darcy, Rumlow and even Tony were related to one of them.

Clearly the dream/ghost/prophecy of Peggy was warning him of Rumlow. He couldn’t trust the former Triple Agent.

There was no way sweet little Darcy was willingly with him.

No way.

The way they explained how she was some piece of _property_ in her culture, made a lump of disgust rise in his throat as he once again swung at the punching bag. That combined with what Tony had explained earlier, that they used females as _rewards_ sometimes.

No, he decided. Darcy was forced into this.

Yes, she seemed okay and repeatedly told them she was fine, but Rumlow had been right beside her the entire time, hovering only inches away, one of his hands always touching her somewhere.

He could confess that he was jealous.

Maybe that clouded his judgment.

Bucky replaced another punching bag.

He tried to look at this in a neutral way, but he couldn't forget the way Darcy has scrunched her face in pain, a headache she had said, but what if it wasn't? What if they used some kind of magic to ensure her compliance?

What he needed to do was to get her alone.

He needed to hear it from her own mouth that she was really in _love_ with Rumlow, when she was safe and away from his influence.

Bucky and the Soldier saw things in a more impartial and calculating way.

“While I do believe Darcy spoke the truth, considering her body language, I think the possibility of magic being involved is very high. I agree that getting Darcy alone is a good option of determining if she is safe and not being influence.”

Almost hesitantly he had added. “But I do also think that our dislike of Rumlow is tainting your judgment.”

“Maybe,” Steve agreed. “But I gotta be sure that she's okay with him.”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded a frown furrowing his brows. “Me too, punk.” he agreed before turning his eyes upon Steve. “I'm not happy either but he seemed sincere when he told me he wouldn't harm her.”

“I just gotta be sure,” Steve insisted. With a sigh, his best friend agreed and a companionable silence befell them as Steve completed his workout. Well, it would be more accurate to say that Steve went through all the available punching bags and didn’t feel like damaging any more equipment. The reinforced punching bags would be repaired in the morning, but for now, the leading edge of his ire had been soothed somewhat.

After both of them had hit the showers they stepped out into the hallway and stopped in their tracks.

“Darcy?”

No, that wasn't right.

Though the woman in front of them shifted within a millisecond to look like Darcy, there was something odd about her. The way the woman smiled at them was a perfect imitation of their beloved lab manager and handler. Yet, at the same time, there seemed something almost malicious and that certainly was not the Darcy they knew.

Something that made their new abilities to see through glamours warned them of some unseen danger.

Bucky pulled a gun on her eyes shifting into a stormy gray and becoming cold and calculating.

“You're not Darcy,” the Soldier stated matter-of-factly. His aim never wavered, even as the illusion of Darcy Lewis vanished, and several other women’s faces and bodies shimmered into being at an almost alarming rate.

“No,” the woman agreed shrugging innocently, mouth pouting an annoyed moue. “But curious that _both_ of you would see the little Underworld Princess.”

“Who are you, and what do you want with Darcy?” Steve scowled, itching to reach for the shield that wasn’t there, and adjusting his frame to a fighter’s at ready stance.

A wicked smile appeared on the woman's face before she shifted into a blond.

“You may call me Aphrodite.”

~~~

Brock pulled the door open with one hand, the other still holding one of his favorite twin swords at a ready and he snarled his displeasure at the deity before him. “What the fuck do you want?!”

Eros for his part only grinned sheepishly, ducking his light pink (body spray guys!) head and grinning widely. “Hey, little brother.” he greeted while waving one hand in a childish manner. “Can I come in?”

Brock studied him for a moment. From his casual getup of a white linen button down shirt that was left open in the front, showing of his pink painted abs (there were little hearts painted on there too – Brock mentally rolled his eyes – one of his nieces must have had Daddy-daughter time) to his navy colored shorts and leather thong beach sandals.

Obviously his brother appeared that way on purpose, leaving most of his weapons - yes Eros I do realize you still have some knives on you- on Olympus. Of all of his siblings, Eros was probably the only one who wouldn't outright attack him; in fact, the God of Love was the only deity he got along with (before meeting Darcy and Thor, let's not talk about Loki. Loki and he did not get along.)

For a while they stared at each other, Eros running a hand through his snow white curls in a nervous manner, eyes betraying the inner unease he felt. Brock had never seen him looking this way before. Just like that Eros spoke up again, seemingly a bit annoyed. “You going to let me in, or what, little brother?”

“It's not like I can stop you,” Brock muttered and stepped back, opening the door wider. “Shoes and knives off,” he jerked his head towards the shoe cabinet and entry hall closet. “Thanks for knocking and not kicking down my door.”

Eros snorted in obvious amusement at the not-so-hidden sarcasm. “I'm not father,” he chuckled a little. “I do have some manners.”

With those words the god stepped inside and promptly proceeded to toe off his sandals while relieving himself of the few knives he carried.

“Well,” Brock began, sheathing his own weapon. “It's been a long time since I saw you in person. You want coffee while you tell me why you're here?”

“Sure,” Eros agreed with a nod, walking slowly and calmly farther into the apartment. “But you can bring out something stronger. I have a feeling you might want to have a drink,” his brother recommended on a sigh. “Because, unfortunately, I'm not here on my own behalf. I'm here because mother made me come and bring you a wedding present.”

Brock paused on his way to the open kitchen and arched an eyebrow at his half-brother. “A wedding present?” he questioned just to be sure. “From _your_ mother?”

Eros studied the mismatched pillows Darcy had insisted on needing with a soft smile on his face before turning to look at him. “Yep.” he popped the ‘p’ a little and pulled out a letter of all things from somewhere. “I have no idea what she put in there, but I'm pretty sure it's not anything good.”

Snorting, Brock changed his course and did venture to a sidebar, pulling out a few different bottles and two glasses.

“You’re right.” he agreed, setting everything down on the coffee table before sitting opposite of the God of Love. “Any present from your mother can't be good.”

“That being said,” Eros began and took one of the glasses filling it up generously. “I tested it already. It contains something larger than it appears to be able to hold but I was unable to find other spells on it whatsoever. At least, none that I can sense, and you know that I am the best with sensing Mother’s magic since my own is so similar.”

“I appreciate the notion,” Brock hummed and nodded his head in thanks. “I wouldn't have opened it without Mom testing it first. I’ll have to call her and get her here if she’ll leave Ææa.”

“Good,” Eros took a huge sip and then eyed the bright turquoise pillows and the throw blanket. “I see your wife is forcing you to adjust to the comfortable life of fluffy pillows and blankets; how barbaric of the Little Deathly Hallows.”

“And cookies,” Brock grinned while Eros chuckled amused, leaning back casually on the couch and stuffing one of the pillows behind himself, wiggling to get more comfortable.

“Not the cookies! However is your diet going to survive?”

“It’s been touch and go, I’ll admit,” Brock found himself relaxing into the familial banter.

“Your performance on Olympus was point on, but I must warn you,” the Love God shrugged as he took a healthy sip of liquor. “Not everyone believed your act.”

“I thought as much,” Brock puts the glass down and crossed his arms. “Father said anything?”

Both men made a face at the mention of their mutual sperm donor, noses crinkling and mouths curling up in almost twin sneers.

“No,” Eros shook his head with a thoughtful look on his face and drew a hand through the air, creating little hearts that disappeared in a puff of pink glitter after a short moment. “You know how he despises the big boss, he wouldn't tell him for anything.”

For a while both of them were silent until Eros huffed a little. Eyes closed, he leaned his head against the cushiony back of the couch.

“You've tasted her blood,” He stared up at the ceiling but not truly registering the physical barrier.

Eyes flashing a startling red Brock growled out, “What is it to you?”

The possessive and protective bite to his words was underscored by the raw jealousy that hummed darkly just beneath the surface.

“Nothing,” Eros grinned sheepishly at the ceiling. “I'm not judging. I'm our father's son, too.” he reminded his younger half-sibling, recalling his own courtship with Psyche. “Just be careful, brother. For even unintentionally – most especially unintentionally - blood magic is a thing in our line.”

“I know that. I'm not stupid.” Brock huffed. “It was one of the first things our father taught me and I've used it before.”

“Yes,” Eros nodded in agreement. “But I'm pretty sure you've never used anyone's blood but your own. You most certainly haven’t used it on a lover who was more than just a night’s relief either, I bet, haven’t you? Feelings – lust, romance, love, hate – they all change the nature of the blood magic; makes it something unique. The pedigree of the lover, the amount of magic the other person wields or doesn’t in their own right makes it worse or better. And make no mistake brother, Darcy, despite her mortality, is a goddess,” his brother had his brow in a thoughtful frown. “There might be consequences. I would be most surprised if there weren’t.”

Brock raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“You might get high, addicted,” Eros trailed off with a shrug and glanced to run knowing eyes over the length and the breadth of his brother’s form, a very pleasing form, not entirely unexpected from the union of a son of a god and a beautiful sorceress. The hair and biceps and abs were a thing of beauty if Eros did say so himself. “Or your body might absorb some of the powers contained in her blood … considering her parentage that might be … difficult for a mortal.”

“Like what?” Brock repeated his question, contemplating the new information, and he had just tasted a few drops. That couldn't possibly do something, right? “I'm not going to start seeing ghosts or something, am I?”

“Who knows?” Eros grimaced a little. The son of Ares and Circe with a spark of the Power the Daughter of Hades and Persephone could bring to the Spiritual Plane of their union? The potential alone, much less if they came together as a true team, could yield enemies and so-called allies alike, and likely had. “I mean we both know that Darcy isn't exactly mortal or powerless.”

“What do you know of her power, real or assumed?” Brock questioned darkly and Eros couldn’t help the ironic twist to his lips at his brother’s defense of his wife. Psyche was the only one who was ever able to bring the obsessive dark beast within him, to test his hard earned control. Who wanted to claw, rend, and tear asunder any who merely looked at what was his and his alone let alone appear to threaten her.

“I am not just a pretty face, nor am I the chubby winged cherub modern mankind has relegated me to.”

“And…?”

Rolling his eyes at his brother’s deliberate obtuseness, Eros sighed.

“Come off it, little brother. Darcy is a true Daughter of the Underworld; her godfather and former contender to be betrothed is Death himself. Wait, you didn’t know she was supposed to be promised to Thanatos? Eh, it doesn’t matter now, now that she is bound to you. Her mother, well…her mother may have been a goddess of spring and nature, but there is a reason that Mother Nature is feared and the Big Boss changed her name,” Eros warned, fingers tapping out and unconscious rhythm.

“Great,” Brock snarled out, mood darkening. “This is just fucking great!”

~~~

“Sir?” Jarvis interrupted a pacing Tony, who was anxiously awaiting Pepper’s arrival. “There seems to be a situation.”

Pepper was due to back at any moment now. He had sent her a text and a second later called her, telling her he needed to talk to her in person and she should take the private jet. Of course, she had worried and he assured her that he wasn't dying this time and none of the others where, but that there were things about his past he needed to tell her in person.

They had come up in relation to Darcy's disappearance and he didn't want her to hear it from someone else.

Obviously Pepper hadn't been amused but agreed to come home as quick as possible.

_The Tower is not your home Tony, we have a house, remember?_

_I do, I could never forget._

“What is it this time?” Tony grumbled. “What could possibly be wrong now?!”

“It appears that Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are talking with someone,” Jarvis informed him. “My sensors cannot pick up anybody specific, it is as if one person is there a moment and the next a completely different one is standing in the same place, but my floor panels register a weight in the place this person seems to be standing.”

Running a hand through his hair with an exaggerated sigh. “I know that Dagur the Deranged is probably busy but do send him a notice. Get the security staff that have enough clearance and magical protection informed and the rest of the family up to date on our possible _another deity_ situation.”

“At once, Sir.”

~~~

Brock shook his head and took a generous sip of his drink. “Anything else I should know and worry about?”

“Nothing note worthy,” Eros assured him after a moment’s thought. “Damn those cushions are really comfortable,” he mumbled before continuing. “Our father and my mother are bickering again, no surprise. Something about him spending too much time on earth trying to sow war. He's busy and not giving her enough attention blah, blah, blah. Honestly, Grandmother should have given Mother to Father and maybe we’d have a bit of peace but no…”

“You mean your step-father isn’t fulfilling his husbandly duties? How shocking. Now, about our father,” Brock interjected. “You think he could be helping our other infamous half-brother? Johann?” he practically spat the name. “He escaped last time and it looked like someone ported or magicked him away. Something I _know_ for a fact he can't do on his own.”

“You're sure?” his godly brother questioned. “Maybe he's gotten stronger again, figured out more of the serum. Or just found more potential blood to use?” Eros mused. “He does have an affinity for blood magic. We all know blood magic works in strange and mysterious ways even amongst our own kind.”

For a moment both of them were silent blinking at each other.

“You think our father gave him some of _his_ blood?”

“ _Again_?” Eros squeaked, alarm crossing his face at the possibilities.

Brock blinked at him. “What do you mean, _again_?”

“Well,” Eros winced a little. “There's this rumor that’s been going around since the last human world war.”

Brock bent forward, glass clenched in one fist. “What. Rumor?”

“It’s been said that Erskine was a son of Athena,” the pink painted god almost whispered, wary even among some of the best wards to speak too freely. “Unrecognized, of course, you know how she is about her _virgin_ image.”

Yes, he was definitely whispering now. “Apparently, they tried to give a mortal the powers of a god without the ...” Eros’s eyes flickered around before he continued. “Without the force and magic that makes all of us unable to _actually kill_ the High King because gods know that more than one of us has tried.”

 _And failed_ , was the unspoken truth.

“Are you shitting me right now?” Brock questioned, glass thunking to the coffee table. “You do know that they injected me with some of that stuff right?!”

Oh, Gaia, please have mercy!

He had enough of Ares’s blood flowing naturally through his veins, even diluted as it was by Circe’s allegedly mortal – though greatly extended via magic – status.

Here he was, thinking that the serum had not affected him, overtly or not, that all his gains in power, strength, speed, and intellect were just him able to show off his natural prowess. But what if…?

“Why do you think our King has kept you in his good graces? Granted you a Favor that included ‘up to and including the powers of a new Deity, and all that Immortal deity entails’ in its parameters?” Eros whispered nervously licking his lips. “He's making sure that if it worked, that you wouldn't get the idea to go against him.” he confided. “There's no way he would have given you any goddess, not even Darcy, as a wife if he wasn't trying to keep you happy and distracted and _grateful_ for the boon. Have you never wondered why Olympus suddenly was so interested in keeping a watch on the Skull?”

“You have to be kidding me.”

“Just be careful, little brother. Watch your back and your little wifey’s, too.”

~~~

The Soldier watched the now red haired goddess disappear in a cloud of pink butterflies and the scent of roses … and the distinct but faint smell of blood. He didn't trust the deity, not at all, not only because of Tony's and Darcy's warnings, but also because he felt all too calm in her presence.

Like he couldn't help but believe her and do as she said. Bucky had retreated into the safety of their own head the moment he realized they weren't dealing with a human, smart move on his part, letting _Him_ take over.

Something about her struck him as familiar, made him imagine that he could still feel the biting cold within the marrow of his bones. A sensation he remembered all to clearly from the cryostasis he was kept in. The almost painfully strong urge to follow a command, _her_ command, it was too familiar.

And it pissed Them off. They worked too hard to be free, to have their own choice, to be brought to heel by this familiar stranger.

Steve's stance shifted and both of them stared at each other for a moment, whole thoughts and worries and anger shared in an instant.

Still, the Soldier felt the need to voice his thoughts, or maybe it was Bucky, it was hard for them to decide who they were sometimes.

“We do not like this,” their voice is cold and clipped. “We should not trust her. We need to gather more Intel. We should speak with the son of Howard Stark.”

Steve glanced down at the shiny golden dagger in his hand, a mixture of emotions on his face, as he twisted the blade and admired its form.

“I don't trust her either,” he finally nodded, quiet and almost distant as he kept staring at the weapon in his grasp. “She told me everything I wanted to hear.”

Barnes kept a steady gaze on his companion until Steve finally shook his head, breaking eye contact with the dagger to look at his friend.

“It was exactly what I wanted to hear. My hopes, dreams, and desires…hearing it out of her mouth made me realize just how convenient it would be for all of it to be true.” he sighed strongly, using his free hand to card through wet strands of hair. “I so desperately want to do exactly as she said. That's… suspicious.”

“Since when have you ever did what anyone told you to punk?”

“You’re right. That feeling. It’s suspicious and absolutely untrustworthy. If she were telling the truth, she wouldn't put all that magic in her words. You felt it. It was like I was being compelled and had no control over my thoughts. I didn’t even want to touch this,” and he held up the dagger in the space between them.

“Rumlow's an ass,” Bucky snorted, eyes returning to a soft blue, and met the darker blue of his friend when he once again forced his gaze away from the dagger. “But you heard what Darcy doll and Foster and Stark said about those Olympian fuckers; I think they just want us to slit his throat to get to Darcy.”

He had to look away for a moment of weakness. The sheer _want_ and _need_ in his heart, to claim Darcy as Their own and remove the obstacle her _husband_ presented was still such a throbbing ache.

“I'm not saying that part of what she said might not be true but …” his arm recalibrated and it seemed to break whatever spell had been sticking to them.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed his face stormy as he thrusted the golden dagger to Bucky, hilt loose in his grip, and waving it carefully in enticement. “Take it, I'm not ... I don’t trust myself at the moment.” Steve confessed and he swallowed, _hard_.

Bucky was careful in accepting the dagger. He swore he felt a vibrating pang thrum from his hand to his chest the moment his flesh hand accepted the weapon.

“I need to think about this. I _fucking_ want to storm up there and,” Steve trailed off shaking his head and had to try and remove the almost vivid images of what would occur out of his mind’s eye. “But I know it is wrong, on so many levels. I know we need more information and not trust that goddess just like that, just because she said what we want to hear but on the other hand, _fuck_ , what if she told the truth?!”

Bucky nodded and patted the place where he had hidden the dagger away.

“I know,” he agreed. “If Rumlow really did force Darcy into this like this goddess said and not like they told us, then we'll find a way to annul this marriage or kill him, with this dagger or not.” his voice shifted a little, announcing the Soldiers presence. “But any action should be well planned, we do not know if he has special abilities, what his true strength is, if he has allies that would try to avenge him. If what she said is true we need to keep Darcy safe from more than just him.”

“I know,” Steve growled and snapped out, feeling weak for the first time in a long while. “Magic,” he grunted. “Why did it have to be magic and not something I, we can solve?” his frustration was clear in his voice. “Back in the day when my main problem was getting the Tesseract from Red Skull,” Steve blinked as if something had just occurred to him and then shared a look with the Soldier who was obviously thinking something similar.

“Darcy's father, the King” the Soldier tilted his head a little. “Obviously knows something about Red Skull.”

There was a moment of pause as both men thought over the possibilities.

“Do you think, that maybe he is a demigod too.” the Soldier questioned in a mixture of Bucky's accent and his sharp calculating tone. “Considering how strong and fast he is? Do you think the serum didn't work on him and he's just … a demigod?”

“That,” Steve blinked. “Would make so much sense.” he agreed. “What if he wanted the serum to get even stronger? If he threw Erskine into the dungeon because it didn't work the first time when he used it and made him all, well red?”

“It did work on you,” Bucky pointed out, then, far more quietly, “And me.”

“Yes, but I'm just a human.” Steve reminded him, purposefully ignoring the Zola can of worms, knowing it wasn’t the time. “What if it only works on mortals and not demigods? What if it only worked on me because Howard helped?” he posited his theories. “We now know that Howard was a demigod, he must have known … he must have known that Schmidt wasn't a human. That's why he helped me.”

“They did something to us,” the Soldier was back. “Something to make us stronger, resilient” he tilted his head once again, seemingly thinking or trying to remember. “Perhaps that is the reason we aren't as affected by this goddess, not as Rollins was with Darcy.” he reminded, and more of Bucky leaked into his tone, “Because I _felt_ the urge to follow her command, strongly, and I still kind of want to do, but I managed to resist falling completely. The triggers are successfully removed and I haven't felt the urge since … forever.”

Steve opened his mouth to reply but snapped it close again when the elevator door opened and Tony stepped out in full Ironman gear, followed by four more of his suits.

Tony glanced around while he approached them, the suits a short way after him. He greeted them with a short nod, his face plate sliding up. “Capsicle; Abominable.” his eyes darted around. “You had company?”

The tension in Tony's voice was clear and for a split second Steve considered lying to him, emotions of their earlier confrontation still strong.

“Yes,” he answered instead. “We did. And I do think they are after Darcy.”

Tony's eyes widened at his words. If it was due to his honest answer or the fact that another threat to Darcy reared its ugly head he wasn't too sure.

“She is gone for now,” Bucky turned his attention to Tony who glanced at him, trying but failing to keep the wince on his face from showing. “The goddess that was here; The love goddess, she left.”

“Please tell me that you didn't believe whatever she told you,” Tony asked them looking at them imploringly. “And for my grandfather's sake, please tell me you didn't accept any kind of _gifts_ from her.”

~~~

Eros looked up rather abruptly, an alarmed look on his face that turned into a frown.

“What is it?” Brock questioned, reaching for his weapons. “What do you sense?”

“For a moment,” his half-brother trailed off. “I think mother is here. Or was. I just felt a burst of her magic some floors down.”

“Jarvis,” Brock called. “I know I have privacy protocol running, but are there any messages from Mister Stark? Is there an intruder? Surely you would have warned me?”

“Of course Commander,” Jarvis replied. “I was just about to do so. Sir wanted me to contact you just a few seconds before your request. There appears to be a deity on the gym floor. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are currently talking with _it_.”

“Damn it,” Brock cursed turning towards Eros. “Can you?”

Eros shook his head. “I can't confront her,” he told him. “She has someone watching Psyche and the kids and I can’t risk my family.” his godly half-brother informed him shortly, but there was regret in his words and gaze. “I'll have to take my wife and kids and disappear for a while,” shaking his head he gestured towards the letter. “I was only supposed to bring you this. She probably thought I would be long gone, she doesn't know we occasionally talk.”

“Go to my mother,” Brock ordered him. “I'm sure she would help your wife and kids.”

Eros snorted and huffed, rolling his eyes in amusement. “No way,” he said. “She would try to turn me into a frog or something … I'm pretty sure she would take in Psyche and the kids but your mother doesn't need any more of my mother's attention put her way. My mother hates yours. She hates that our Father took an opportunity and that she bore him a child,” he shook his head at the toxicity of his parent’s obsession with each other that ruined anything it came up against. “Thanks for the offer though. I'll remember it.”

With those words a pink swirly mist cascaded out of the deity and settled around the apartment. “A little extra defense.” he explained quickly. “The least I can do.”

Brock nodded his thanks towards his brother. “I wish our circumstances were different.”

There was genuine longing as the brothers stared at one another, the weight of their lineage, and the desire to just be like normal mortals able to be around family without so much at stake.

Eros nodded his head sadly and rose, fluffy white wings emerging from his back, weapons and his usual gear appearing on his body he laid one hand on Brock's shoulder. “Me too, brother, me too” he sighed. “I have to go now.”

“Tell Psyche and the munchkins I said hello.”

Eros smiled softly at the gruff affection. There were times he loved his little brother so much it hurt. Like right now.

“They miss you, you know that right?”

“Yeah,” Brock swallowed. “I miss them too.”

“One of these days,” Eros told him. “We won't have to sneak around and you can introduce Darcy to my family, the one I love, officially.”

Brock snorted. “Don't promise things you can't hold.”

“Brock,” Eros licked his lips. “You know I'm not allowed to talk about my work with mortals, since I am closely working with the Fates.” Eros gaze was a startling white turning a soft blue and then purple all of sudden. “But as your brother I'm telling you that what you did in the Underworld was meant to happen.”

With that, he disappeared in a twirl of feathers and fading pink hearts.

Brock's heartbeat echoed in his own ears.

_What was that supposed to mean?!_

“Commander Rumlow?” Jarvis questioned. “Shall I tell Sir you are on your way or are you staying here to defend the Princess, just in case?”

“I'll stay,” he decided walking swiftly towards the bedroom. “I'm not leaving her out of my sight.”

After a second he went back to retrieve the letter. “I better not leave you out of my sight, either.”

~~~

“Tell me about Howard,” Steve softly requested on their way up, back to the Common Room. “How he really was and not what he made us mortals think.”

Tony blinked up at him in obvious astonishment and obviously thought his request over very thoroughly because he didn't say anything for a whole minute.

He had been surprised when both the Star Spangled Wonder and the One Armed Bandit had been honest about what had happened with the Olympian slut.

Even shown him the dagger and agreed to let him run tests on both them and the dagger to make sure they weren't under some spell.

“You're not going to like what I'm going to be telling you,” Tony warned softly. “Are you sure you want to know?” he glanced at Bucky. “Are you sure you both want to know? Remember, once you know, nothing will be the same again for both of you.”

“I'm sure,” Steve assured him, resolute. “I'm,” he trailed off for a moment and closed his eyes. “I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm not always making the best decisions and,” he sighed softly before admitting, “Darcy was right about a lot of things.”

“Look at you Cap,” Tony shook his head softly. “Trying to be a better man.” he grinned sassily. “Erskine would be so proud of you."

“Thank you.” Steve ducked his head. “I'm sorry Tony,” he continued. “I really am. I'm starting to realize that there are so many things I don't know and I hate, absolutely hate that helpless feeling.”

“Me too,” Bucky interjected, amused when both of the other man gave a startled twitch, obviously having forgotten his presence. “There are things we don't know and I think, that if we work together, for real this time, that we could manage to get to the bottom of this.”

“Murder Bot,” Tony turned his attention to him, but for once his tone was affectionate. “You both have no idea,” he sighed. “Jarvis, privacy protocol please.”

“Of course, Sir,” his beloved brain-child's voice sounded overhead. “I've taken the liberty to engage it the moment Captain Rogers voiced his request.”

“Thank you, you're the best.”

Jarvis voice sounded almost smug. “I try, Sir.”

Tony grinned and turned his attention back to them. “Well, as both of you know I suck at explanations.” he shrugged. “Can't be helped.” Tony actually laughed a little. “I can give you the files my father had on you and me if you want.”

“Files?” Steve questioned. “Like SHIELD files?”

“Nah, worse,” Tony actually flinched. “You know he was really disappointed at your disappearance, his most prized experiment just vanishing.” he shook his head. “So he focused on a new project. Me. He tried to create a demigod, doing all kinds of experiments, trying to at least make me as smart as him.” Tony growled a little. “Obviously he failed and I was a disappointment all the way.”

Steve and Bucky winced in sympathy.

“Tony,” Steve spoke up. “If you need more time.”

“Nah,” Tony waved him off. “You asked and I'll try to explain some of it. Not all, that will take some time,” he sounded sincere and this explanation seemed far more structured than all the information he tried to give them when he explained Darcy's situation.

“That's alright,” Steve assured him. “We have time, we will take the time and listen.” he assured him, seeing the frown on Tony's face fading a little. “After this whole thing with the gods, and one of them showing up here and obviously trying to get us to fight each other … I'm sure. I want to know all I can so we can finally trust each other fully. The way we were meant to.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “That would be good.” he confessed and twiddled his thumbs in a nervous coping manner. “I would, I would enjoy that.” Tony voiced. “Not having to lie to you guys anymore.”

~~~

He shouldn't have opened that damned letter.

After Jarvis informed him that there was no immediate threat anymore and Mister Stark requested that they had a meeting the next day Brock had decided to open the letter.

Brock did trust Eros when he told him that no foul magic was placed on the letter or the object inside and had opened it, but no foul spell was needed to make him feel like shit.

Aphrodite had placed a written copy of the Rite of Acquisition inside the envelope along with a short, hand written letter.

He held in his hands the complete, unabridged writ of The Rite of Acquisition. Reading it in whole, it was gruesome and downright barbaric to put it mildly. He very much doubted that the bitch of a goddess had altered it, because it simply wasn't needed.

Darcy's reactions made so much more sense now.

The way she had practically frozen and seemed to change personalities in an instant; the fact that even then she let him touch her, despite her anger, it was like a punch to his gut. Her reaction in the woods of Ææa, when he first brought her there, her silent tears when he carried her home it all was so fucking clear now. The way she had melted into his touch wasn't acceptance but the way the Favor forced her to act with her new owner.

The downright panic in her eyes when she woke up during the night to find him hovering there at the bedside.

Her hesitation, mistrust, and outright fear of his reaction when she asked him for what he expected of her, what needs she was supposed to meet.

Why she had thought he would treat her like a servant or … a slave.

A sex slave even.

It all made so much more fucking sense.

Because that damn Rite, would allow him to treat her thus and freaking punish her as he saw fit when she displeased him and there would be nothing she could do about it but bear it in silence.

She had distracted him earlier that day, after telling him about what the Favor did to her, assuring him it was fine and that she loved him and he hadn't had the time to think about it again, until now. Now, that he knew all of what she was forced to endure.

_Enjoy my gift._

Brock stared down at Darcy's sleeping form and felt the tears of rage threatening to spill once more, the elegantly written words of the Love Goddess letter haunted his mind and soul.

_I saw her spit on you on Olympus and we just can't have that, now can we? You are daddy's favorite after all, so I made things a little more comfortable for you._

The fucking slut of a goddess had put a love spell on his wife.

He felt a lump of disgust rise in his throat. He could puke; he felt a lot like puking right now.

_Pure love is more my son's department, so it's more like a mixture of affection, obedience and a heavy dose of a lust spell but I assure you the effects will be the same. She's not going to fight you anymore and won't complain about any biting. I do assume you are like your father in that regard._

Sure, Aphrodite could be lying through her teeth but it all fit together so well.

Darcy had fought the effects of the Favor all the way to Olympus and only slowly started to allow his touch afterwards. She never complained, not when he had grabbed her wrist so hard that it had bruised, not when her hand was burned so badly that she bled and he could only hope (he refused to pray) that the attention he had paid to her neck didn't hurt her too much.

The law forbade her from complaining about any kind of physical harm he did to her.

She didn't love him.

She only thought she did.

Darcy, his lovely and kind little wife, was nothing more than a prisoner in her own body, a slave to his desires, and he hadn't seen it or realized it. Instead, his own heart had craved her so much he had ignored all the little signs, he had been so happy when she agreed to be his, he hadn't thought about how fast it all had gone. His instincts screaming at him to claim her and when he had thought she had accepted him he did his fair share of claiming her, in all the ways.

She shifted softly in her sleep, delicate limbs moving to find a comfortable position, the dark shirt she wore riding up her thighs to reveal her lack of underwear. He swallowed hard; he had voiced his pleasure about her wearing his clothes and nothing else to her.

The soft glow of her skin was like a beacon of her innocence, something he had utterly ruined.

“You didn't, you would never.” she had told him when he requested she should tell him that he hadn't forced her, and of course she had answered that way, he had practically forced her to answer that way.

She fucking believed it herself.

Shit.

He couldn't bear to look at her slumbering form any longer, she seemed so impossibly small and vulnerable at the moment. Almost hesitantly he reached out to pull the covers back over her; she must have kicked them off at some point.

While he readjusted the blanket she shifted again, nuzzling against a pillow she clutched to herself and sighing softly in her sleep. Just like that first morning.

His heart ached.

Yes, she surely was able to defend herself against him if she was in her right mind, but she wasn't.

He left the bedroom in a hurry.

What he needed was to think this through.

There still was the possibility that Aphrodite was lying, his heart refused to give up on that theory even if there were a lot of facts that suggested otherwise.

On the other hand it was entirely possible that what she wrote was true. That she did place a powerful spell upon Darcy. She was a bitch after all and that would seriously hurt Darcy in more ways than one and at the same time him.

He fucking hurt alright?!

The possibility that he might have repeatedly raped his own wife without realizing it was like a dagger in his gut that kept twisting.

What he needed was assurance.

Assurance and better security for the Tower. It seemed like every deity could just walk into it like they pleased.

What he needed was his mother's expertise.

And maybe a hug.

Definitely a hug.

He was going to crush his momma to him like he hadn’t done since the first time Ares stole him away for training and he wasn’t going to let go for a long moment.

Circe would help him figure out under what spell Darcy was under if she truly was and hopefully set it right. For the first time he felt like praying. Praying to someone that Darcy wasn't under some kind of spell and that she did love him as he loved her.

Because if she wasn't in love with him.

His stomach flipped, if she was under a spell this whole time, there was no way she would ever allow his affection and touch again once it was lifted. There was a high possibility that she would request to never see him again.

It would break him.

Because the truth of the matter was, Darcy owned him. Heart, soul, mind, dick. That woman was his goddess of choice and he couldn’t imagine life without her love. Her sass and her hand on his scruff, her curves pressed close, her laughter. The way her whole face lit up as she teased him.

He needed to think clearly, something he seemed incapable of at the moment.

Aphrodite had sent him this _gift_ with Eros and some deity, possibly Aphrodite had turned up in the Tower at the same time. Mister Stark had sent him a message telling him that they needed a meeting the next day, to discuss everything.

He would hold onto the hope that the slut was just trying to mess with Darcy and him with every fiber of his being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supreme kiss for my Beta/Cowriter [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> She always supports me even when I doubt myself - I do feel the pregnancy hormones! Like so MUCH and she makes sure I stay on track and not let them carry me away too far.
> 
> Oh god guys I'm nesting like crazy and it still roughly five months!


	34. A lovely morning

Darcy woke in the early morning hours feeling very well rested for the first time in what felt like forever. Still sleep groggy, she stretched her limbs and lifted her head to blink into the pre-dawn darkness of the empty room.

Brock wasn't in bed with her.

She pouted even as she shivered as the blankets fell off and the heat of sleep escaped.

She had known that even before opening her eyes. Since they had begun sharing a bed, Darcy noticed her husband tended to have at least an arm draped over her waist if she was lucky; many times he added a leg or sometimes even tucked her half under his body. Even if he didn’t do all that – it was rare he didn’t- she was still able to feel his warmth, not just physically but also the comforting radiating heat of his powers which liked to wrap around her own as well. She wasn't even sure he was aware that he cloaked her presence with his aura.

It was hilarious when she thought about it. She hadn’t yet shared these particular thoughts with Brock, wanting to cherish and hoard these observations for the future.

Slowly sitting up in bed and moving her head tenderly, she knew from past experience that sometimes really stubborn migraines stayed even after a good night's sleep and she was cautious. Fortunately, there was no pain.

Happy about this pleasant turn of events -with her current luck she had almost expected that her headache would be stubborn- she hurried to the bathroom to take a quick shower. Refreshed and feeling a little naughty, she picked out a pair of turquoise thigh high socks and slipped into Brock's sweater again, it still smelled like him and she hummed content.

It wasn’t until later before she tidied up the bedroom, knowing Brock would appreciate her effort. He was such a neurotic, OCD clean freak on crack and it was just one of those quirks she decided to go with, rather than bitch about.

Pleased with what she had accomplished so far, she figured it was time to venture outside of the bedroom and had to stop and blink at the sight that greeted her in the living room.

Internally her brain was blaring, _“This does not compute!”_

She had assumed Brock had got up early to hit the gym or catch up with the security team.

What she hadn't expected was to find him slumped in an ungraceful sprawl, fast asleep on the couch, empty bottles of Scotch and other liquor littering the surface of the coffee table.

Snoring.

Very.

Loudly.

Like, rattle the house and hide your kids with noise canceling headphone, what the Hel?

She was suddenly struck with the memory of their picnic on his mother’s island, and the grin that started to spread at the memory of who exactly had joined them on that picnic date.

Gaia, did he take lessons how to do that from Odysseus?

If so he must have passed with flying colors; or offended audial canals.

Perhaps he needed to get his sinuses and septum checked out, that didn’t sound healthy. Maybe it was the angle his head was against the cushions? It was the first time she had ever seen him less than elegant.

Her nose wrinkled at the smell and she tiptoed over to the air conditioning, silently selecting a few commands that would make the air circulation pick up and hopefully waft this particular stench away.

Laying her head sideways to rest against the wall she studied him, wondering what in particular had set him off as to make him drink that much.

Though in a lot of pain, her migraine hadn’t been that bad that she missed something was it? He had been so sweet and attentive last night, and she thought she had fallen asleep with him cuddling against her like an octopus. Most nights she thought he would merge his body into hers if he could in an effort to get as close to her as possible.

She hadn't seen Brock drink enough to get completely plastered before, expect that one time, the first night when she slept in their room alone. He had already been drunk but slightly cognizant when she had woke up and he had moved outside to guard the door, so it wasn’t like she got to _see it_ , see it.

And he was already downstairs with his mother and that damned War Idiot in the kitchen when she had finally worked up the courage to grab some clothes and clean up for breakfast.

A particularly loud bellowing snore, which ended with a series of small snorts, had her desperately trying to stifle a giggle. A tear escaped out of the corner of her eye as she slapped a hand over her mouth to contain her mirth.

Even Odysseus would have fled that sleepy threat of certain doom.

She wasn't stupid enough to touch him while he slept and didn't expect to be touched; she knew about PTSD and was pretty sure that he would react badly if she touched him while he slept off his alcohol level So, while his snoring ebbed out to a more subdued level she tenderly moved closer to him, surprised when he didn't wake as she set about to clean up some of the empty bottles and carried them into the kitchen to pour out what little remained in the bottoms down the drain. She would rinse the bottles out later to be recycled or repurposed. She would have to look up some DIY ideas.

Rummaging in the kitchen she ventured back towards him with a large bowl -sue her she didn't know where he kept his buckets yet- and a glass of water.

Just in case.

She didn’t know if he even had any mortal pain medication, she never bothered to snoop in his bathroom, and couldn’t recall seeing anything that looked like a medicine cabinet. Perhaps he just relied on his healing factor? She would have to look into that for future purposes; he may have the cool healing but others weren’t so lucky.

Gaia did she want to run her hand through his hair and ruffle through it, but they hadn't had that conversation about her touching him while he slept yet. She knew that a lot of the guys had problems with that. Tony … Pepper had confided in her sometimes; when he had had a particular bad night and his paranoia had psychically linked him to some of the Iron Guardian suits. Fortunately for Pepper, Tony woke up enough to realize what was going on and Pepper was saved from being choked out.

Bucky, Steve, Clint, Natasha, Sam, and Rhodey; even Bruce and Wanda, to varying extents, those poor babies all suffered from the cruel reality of life with PTSD. Mental health awareness was growing –which is a good thing! - But it hurt Darcy’s soul, that the stigma still meant that many were afraid to come forward and accept help. Sucks even worse that many of those who were supposed to help, had some really bad biases toward mental health and that wasn’t cool either.

Shaking her head to clear it of those depressing thoughts, she went back to pick up a few more bottles –there were so many did she know he had that many?- and blinked at a stack of papers with a letter perched on top of it, sitting right in between and under some bottles.

The letter was easily discernible as different from the rest of the paperwork, it being on a heavy vellum paper that most important documents – graduation announcement, wedding invites, resumes, diplomas, rich snobby people stationary, you know those kind of things – as well as being folded slightly different.

‘ _Acquisition_ ’ was the only word she could make out of the paperwork underneath and it made her heart clench painfully.

 _No_ , she thought her mind racing in panic, heart beginning to race and her shaking fingers went to shift the bottles on top of the paper on their own accord.

Her fear was confirmed.

Simultaneously, all the air in her lungs seemed to have disappeared as well as her heart lurching to a painful stop, seeming to also drop somewhere in her tummy region like a rock.

Somehow Brock had gotten his hands on a full writ of the Rite of Acquisition.

Darcy only knew what one was – had been forced to read that stupid thing in all its hideous glory- as part of her training. Being a goddess as well as the Heir to the Throne of the Underworld meant her schooling was quite a bit different, and as a future ruler was required to know the Laws front and back.

No wonder her poor hubby had drunken himself stupid into slumber.

She herself had felt ill and wound out fleeing the tutor and flung herself into the river Styx. She had had to be pulled out by Charon, clutching the Ferryman’s robes, as he pushed them back to shore.

Darcy wanted to hug Brock desperately; he must have been so disgusted when he realized what he had done, to the full extent. The way he had shook underneath her when she revealed to him what the Favor did to her, the sheer panic and rage, his fear of having forced her.

 _Oh Brock_ , she thought sadly.

Her husband’s begging pleas that he not be a monster rung in her head and she bowed her head; the tears gleaming in her eyes were of sorrow this time. When her head and eyes lifted, they focused on the papers.

Curiosity had her pick up the folded letter on top of the stack.

~~~

The sound of someone moving nearby woke Brock up abruptly. Instantly on alert, his eyes snapped open as his hand was already moving to grasp the hilt of one of his daggers while ignoring the slight buzz he still felt and quickly assessed the scene before him.

Darcy was kneeling a short distance away, blinking at him, startled. Her hands still grasping the handles of a tray of breakfast food she had obviously prepared for him and just sat down on the coffee table in front of the couch.

His coffee table which was cleared of all the majority of empty bottles and glasses he had left there from his previous night of excessive drinking.

The stack of papers from the writ was still neatly placed on one side of the table, the letter perched on top of it.

A short distance from him was a glass of water and an empty bowl.

“Hey,” she greeted softly, smiling cautiously. “I made you breakfast, if you think you can stomach something? Sorry if I woke you.” she bit her bottom lip before shyly continuing. “I was just about to dress and go check on Jane really quick.”

Darcy had made him breakfast.

Breakfast he would eat.

There was a thermos to-go cup, no doubt filled with coffee since he could smell the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. An empty glass for his protein shake, still in the mixer and ready to be done at the push of a button. A generous plate filled with pancakes (with a Post-It Note that read 'I used your Banana Protein Recipe, no worries' and a little smiley inked on it) and a Tupperware box with sliced apples.

Mouth dry and feeling like he completely went numb; his hand automatically dropping from his dagger.

At that precise moment he couldn't form words apparently having lost the ability to do so. He just blinked dumbly at her, mouth agape.

He didn't dare to feel anything but numb; she was so fucking perfect it hurt.

He had no idea how to act around her now.

Darcy's hands finally pushed the tray fully onto the table and she turned her whole body towards his.

“I wrote you a note,” her voice is soft while she gestures vaguely at the post it on the tray. “In case you woke up while I was gone.”

There was a lump in his throat and he desperately tried to push it down and find words, he felt his heart clenching painfully, she was so sweet and caring. Too fucking perfect for him, he should have realized that sooner.

“Thank you,” he finally managed to croak out, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, he cleared his throat. “For breakfast. I really appreciate it.”

Not knowing what else to do he reached over and downed the whole glass of water first, not caring if any of it dripped down his neck.

“Brock,” her face was full of worry, her sapphire blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears and she reached out to cup his cheek softly once he had placed his empty glass on the table.

His heart skipped and he sucked in a breath at the touch, a soft keen pulling from his chest and he couldn’t help but lean into her palm, and her perceptive eyes didn’t miss a thing, sadness invading those deep blue depths.

Her gaze flickered to the stack of papers, teeth grasping her bottom lip for a moment, before licking them and swallowing.

“She's lying.” Darcy finally told him, an angry crease appearing on her brow, but her voice remained determined and firm. “The fucking bitch is lying.”

Brock's sienna colored eyes widened and his face paled, features going slack.

“You read the letter,” it was more of a statement then a question. He moved to sit up and ran a hand over his face, unwillingly dislodging his wife’s hand from his face, angling his body from hers –to protect her from himself. “Shit.”

“Yes,” she affirmed softly. “Brock, she's lying. There's no spell on me.”

“Darcy,” he began when she got up from the floor and her hands reached out once more to cup his face, bringing him around to her. He captured her wrists and held her hands.

Gaia, he had to be strong. He couldn’t do it if she kept touching him like she still cared. Was it it even her? Was she in her right mind and not reacting to his unconscious desires?

“How can you be so sure?” Brock sounded so broken that she felt tears gathering once more. “She's a full goddess, how can you be sure that she hasn't done something?!”

Brock had trouble staying focused, since realizing Darcy once again wore his sweater and likely nothing underneath. By now he wouldn't let himself be fooled into thinking that she wore leggings because she clearly wore stockings again or something similar. That turquoise was a shocking splash of color against the black of his sweater, and his brain automatically went to a place he really shouldn’t. At least, not when he wasn’t sure of when he would ever get the opportunity to follow through.

“Brock! She's a bitch,” Darcy shook her head and pushed against his hold until he allowed her to sit beside him and wrap her arms around him. It was the work of a few minutes before his stiff body stopped fighting hers and began to relax against her hold.

“Even if she put a spell on me and I didn't notice it would have faded by now, it’s been how long, now? Without blood magic – and there’s no way she could have grabbed some of mine without my notice I still have that much power left thank you very much. The kind of spells she’s talking about, babe? They only last so long,” she told him in a steady voice. “Besides, don't you think your mother would have said something? Or Loki?! My father ...” Darcy trailed off and huffed clearly frustrated. “I can't believe you would believe that.”

“I don't want to fucking hurt you!” Brock almost growled at her, eyes flashing, the crimson somehow darker, deeper than she had ever seen it. Even his aura had a different shade to it, and it held none of his normal control and was all over the place.

“I never want to hurt you. I hope with every fiber of my being that she is lying.”

He snapped his head to the side and huffed angrily before he swallowed hard.

“Darcy,” he said far softer, gaze still averted. “My little wifey. I uh, I have to consider the possibility that she was, is, telling the truth.”

“She isn't.” Darcy insisted vehemently, aggressively snuggling against his side. “I love you, truly.” her voice left no room for argument. “Brock, for Gaia's sake. Please believe me.” she urged him to understand, moving closer to press a kiss against his chin. “The supposedly Love Goddess is more like the Goddess of Lust and Jealousy. Your brother, Eros, is the Love God and if you want I can … I would ask mother to talk to him, so he can confirm.”

Her blue eyes never wavered from his.

“We can have your mom run tests on me if it makes you feel better but I swear I'm not under any kind of spell other than the Favor. Gaia, you're so stubborn! Brock, how can you not see what an incredibly good husband you are? I. Love. You.”

Brock grasped her hand gently, and sighing, leaned to press his forehead against her own.

“I want to believe you so much.” he told her and hugged her closer. “If you are under a spell,” he shook his head and buried his nose in her hair, she smelled like his shampoo again and he couldn't contain the pleased possessive growl or the way his body tensed in another kind of tension. “Darcy I wouldn't know what to do.”

“I know,” Darcy agreed stroking her hand through his hair softly and he tried not to whine. “You're a good man Brock,” she encouraged him. “You would never use me or anyone like that.” Darcy tried to make her voice as assuring as possible. “And even IF I'm under a spell. I'll be able to remember all of this, but I think you are forgetting one tiny, important little detail.”

“What?” he questioned obviously still shaken, his eyes fluctuating between a bright, deep mahogany red and his usually soft brown. “What detail?”

“What did I tell you?” she asked. “When I told you that you didn't force me, what would I have done to anyone else but you, had they used the Favor as you did?”

By now she had wiggled her way to straddle his lap and he had found himself unable to refuse her approach, it just felt so right to have her close, pressed up against him, in his arms. He was battling with his instincts, holding himself back from pressing her closer.

His brain tried to remember their conversation against the pleasurable feel of soft, feminine curves pressed against planes of his firm musculature. His body missed hers as much as he missed her mind and her smiles and her sass, so what, okay?

“That you would have ripped out my soul,” he finally was able to stutter out, his minx of a wife was rotating her little hips against his pelvis in a slow grind and he couldn’t help but grasp her hips to steady her as he gave a sharp buck upwards.

“Yes,” she hissed whilst nodding in agreement as she fought not to close her eyes. “And you asked me why I didn't,” she reminded softly and her smile turned wide. “I told you it was because I was already falling in love with you back then and that was _before_ Olympus.”

Darcy squeaked in surprise when Brock's hands grabbed both sides of her face and he kissed the hell out of her. It wasn’t the neatest of kisses; too much teeth and tongue and lips and an almost desperate edge as Brock didn’t ask permission he just took and Darcy was all too happy to give whatever he needed.

“You're right,” he breathed after a moment, both gasping and their chests touching in much needing breaths, and then his eyes widened again. “Shit, I'm sorry.”

“Don't you _dare_ tell me you _still_ think that I'm under a spell!” Darcy’s eyes started to take on a glow of their own and she leaned forward and bit _hard_ at his bottom lip, her little hands that were braced on his shoulders suddenly digging in as she clawed at him on a growl, sharp little nails ripping through the shirt he wore and sinking into the flesh of his shoulders, drawing some drops of heated blood.

He couldn’t help the answering rumble in his chest, one hand cupping the back of her neck the other sliding down to cover her lower back. Several long, hot moments were lost as they snarled and bit and licked as they hissed and kissed at each other in the hottest make out session either had ever experienced.

“I just want to make sure,” he continued breathlessly, visibly wincing later, but not from any physical pain.“You understand that right? I'll call mom and we'll figure this out. I do believe you but I need to be one hundred percent sure.”

“Of course,” Darcy agreed, all but purring as she focused on sucking the biggest hickey she could on the corded tissue of his neck and underside of his jaw. It was tough going as the man had the least amount of body fat, like, ever, but hey, goals! She flexed her fingers and drug them down the knots of his vertebrae as she kept on nipping and suckling the smooth flesh.

“I understand that,” she nodded against his neck, humming and smiling as he adjusted beneath her legs. “You're a good man and I wouldn't want any other man as my husband.” Darcy told him and hushed him with a finger on his lips when he tried to say something. “We can call your mom, or visit her again. I don't mind. It's incredibly sweet and good and gallant and just everything that makes a man good that you are making sure.”

Tenderly now, she placed a soft kiss on his stubbled cheek, reveling in the bristle against her lips. Although her nose wrinkled a little at the still very strong smell of alcohol wafted it’s way to her brain now that everything was on a more even keel.

“Eat your breakfast Brock,” she whispered against him. “I want to get this Spell-Check over with so I can show you my socks.”

“Your socks?” Brock chuckled softly and forced himself to half-heartedly reach for the coffee. He didn’t bother to move his wife to the side and she giggled as she clung like a limpet against him and so he didn’t actually manage to move enough to come close to the coffee. “Are we really talking about socks?”

With another giggle she shifted off his lap, giving a wicked smirk as she patted his abs just above where he really wanted her to pet, and handed him the thermos cup with coffee. She outright laughed at his pout as she put a bit of distance between them, grabbing the last of the bottles on the table and heading toward the kitchen.

She did pause and toss over her shoulder, with eyes that danced in pure mischief, “Eat your breakfast like a good boy and I might even tell you that if you hadn't been that bloody and exhausted, I would have let you bend me over that altar.”

Brock almost choked on the sip of coffee he had just drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love for [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> this story wouldn't be the same without you!
> 
>  **Note:**  
>  Hey everyone!  
> Sadly I have tendonitis in my left wrist (which is now in a bracer) and when I try to write I feel like getting stabbed in the wrist.
> 
> Next update might take longer. I'm trying not to strain the hand too much so it get's better soon but sadly it only got worse over the weekend.  
> Thus this chapter is pretty short but!!! I couldn't hold off and just had to post it.


	35. Pudding

It was the most frustrating and awkward elevator ride of her life thus far. And she had been to the bureaucratic offices the Underworld employed so close to the Mortal Realm.

Brock was trying his very best not to touch her too much, and to be honest it annoyed her to no end. She understood his concerns, of course she did, that she might be under a spell; but she had become so used to his touch, his presence, his very power caressing over hers, that now that it was being withheld she felt as if she missed him even though he was right beside her.

With a sigh, she stubbornly reached out and gently interwove her fingers with his.

Game on.

His gaze snapped down to meet her own and she smiled up at him softly, trying her best to appear reassuring when all she could think of was how she could climb him like a tree.

“Please?” she requested before her mouth quirked in a teasing smirk. “Surely holding hands isn't too outrageous?”

She bit her lip and batted her eyes in faux innocence, unable to resist the flirt that seemed ever at ready when it came to this man.

“No,” Brock hummed, moving his thumb across her hand and wrist in a familiar pattern. “It isn't, of course not.”

There was a small smirk on his own face and his tawny eyes flashed crimson for a moment before settling on a softer red, before returning his gaze to settle on the elevator door stubbornly.

Ignoring her once again.

But then again … was he?

She knew exactly what he was thinking about by the way his aura suddenly caressed and twined about hers in soft waves. Her own cheeks began to flush a little as her own thoughts traveled back to their date –was it really a week ago last Friday?- and the ensuing make-out session in this very same elevator.

“What are you thinking about, _husband_?” she breathlessly vocalized, her questioning, throaty lilt full of teasing remembrance.

For the briefest of moments she saw him stiffen before his red gaze flickered to her, an arrogant smirk on his lips.

“Pudding,” his face and voice is so deadpan serious that she couldn’t help blinking before bursting out in startled laughter.

“Pudding?” In between wheezed gasps for air she managed to rasp, whilst another giggle escaped her burgundy painted lips. “You're thinking about _pudding? You?_ ”

Smirk widening, Brock at first doesn't answer her before he tilted his head almost wolf like, eyes crinkling from amusement he rumbled out his answer, “Hmm, you don't believe me?”

At last, he was going along with her teasing banter, even if he was ever so conscious about their physical presence getting too close.

“Absolutely not,” Darcy laughed and smacked his arm playfully. “You Philistine! You probably don't even know how pudding tastes! The horrors of sugary snacks!”

Right when she stomped her feet the elevator dinged and opened, revealing Natasha and Steve. Natasha raised a brow at them inquiringly while Steve looked uncomfortable to put it mildly.

“Natasha!” Darcy beamed at her brightly before playfully grabbing the spies arm and moving behind her, whining. “Help me against this pudding philistine!”

Natasha eyed Brock up and down before carefully answering.

“I am honor bound to defend Darcy now.” she informed him with a perfectly bland tone and expression despite the barely there smile on her lips, before she added, “Lest she withhold the Vanilla-Vodka-Pudding.”

Brock huffed an amused laugh and rolled his eyes. “Not the Vanilla-Vodka-Pudding; say it isn’t so. Sweetheart,” he grumbled at his puckish wife and winked. “Getting all of the Avengers on your side is unfair.”

Darcy hid her head out from behind the taller woman and stuck her tongue out at him.

“You should have thought about that before involving _the Pudding_!” her emphases on the last two words made them sound like the they were part of a Saturday morning cartoon villains Evil Plan™.

“There’s no saving you now, Rumlow,” Steve joined the teasing banter for the first time, the first attempt at making amends. “Darcy takes her pudding very serious.”

And because Steven Grant Rogers is the 1940s biggest, secret troll he continued with eyes sparkling full of mischief.

“And her cupcakes, and cookies, and pop-tarts, and French-toasts, and cake - especially the cake. Have I mentioned the chocolate?!”

“Steve!” Darcy gasped at him in mocked outrage. “You traitor!” she pointed and waved a finger at him before turning back to Natasha. “Help me,” she laughingly whined before jerking her thumb towards her hubby. “He put honey into my Latte macchiato! Honey! That's gotta be against some law, somewhere.”

“Hey,” Brock wagged his finger at her. “You said it was good.”

“That's not the point!” she could barely contain her giggles. “It's healthy!”

In the driest possible voice Brock answered with, “How awful of me.”

Steve couldn't contain the laughter that slipped past his lips and he rubbed his neck sheepishly when the other occupants looked at him with various expressions.

“I'm sorry,” he finally managed to say sounding serious. “About yesterday,” he continued with a guilty look at first Darcy and then Brock. “And generally … I … let our past differences cloud my judgment.”

Natasha stayed silent, lips tightly pressed together while Darcy blinked at him in clear surprise.

“I'm,” Steve cleared his throat. “I'm still not okay with the magic part,” his gaze flickered from Darcy to Brock and back. “But Tony explained a few more things and,” he shook his head. “And really it is your decision.”

Cap actually looked away embarrassed for a moment. “Something happened yesterday, something that we should and will better discuss at the meeting; but it made me realize that I was looking at all of this the wrong way.”

For a short moment he paused.

“I would really like to know more. I'm not going to lie; I'm having a hard time seeing you as a good guy.”

This to Brock.

Brock actually snorted at that. “Of course you are,” he grunted almost amused, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “I'm playing up the dumb asshole on purpose.”

He suddenly grinned showing sharp fangs in the LED lighting.

“Not that some of it doesn't come naturally; Right sweetheart?”

Darcy giggled softly.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded. “No denying that.”

Just like that the weird tension that had always seemed to exist between the two males became far less prominent. Not gone completely yet, but heading towards an at least acceptable level.

~~~

“That,” Darcy gasped sometime later, “Total! Bitch!”

The angry glare tossed around the room wasn’t just for dramatic emphasis; she was livid! Were they ever going to catch a break?

“Fuck,” Brock agreed with a nod of his head after Steve, Bucky and Tony had filled them and the rest of the Assembled Avengers on what had taken place in the gym the previous evening. “If you had come up at that time,” he shook his head and Darcy placed a hand on his balled fist. “I would have probably let you kill me.”

“Doesn’t be a stupid martyr, Brock,” Darcy's brows were furrowed, the fingers of her free hand drumming an angry tempo. “She's _lying_ I tell you.”

All of the Avengers, plus Jack, had gathered for their meeting and where looking at him in open surprise, beside Natasha of course. She allowed that curious flicker in her eyes that told people who knew her very well, that she found that particular bit of information interesting.

“What?” Tony questioned – blinking - before he inquired, “Why?”

“Because,” Darcy began with an irritated baring of teeth, no doubt her own incisors elongating in her temper. “That bitch also sent him a letter in which she fucking lies about placing a love spell on me and _he_ believed _her_.” she squeezed his forearm, nails biting half-moon rivets in the supple flesh. “My idiot believes her _still_ , despite my reassurances so we actually have to ask Tony for a favor.”

“Me?” Tony questioned alerted, pointing a finger at his own chest.

“What favor?” Clint cocked his head while leaning back in his chair.

“I can do absolutely no magic mumbo jumbo in that department but if you want I can analyze you like I did with the dagger.” Tony spluttered while ignoring the others and frowning. “Although I don't think I'll get a clear reading on you, you're not exactly … magic-less on a normal day. And you’ve been around some serious Power Ups, kid.”

“A love spell?” Steve and Bucky asked simultaneously, both seemingly alarmed before Steve continued. “Like, you might not be in love with him?”

“Yes, that kind of spell.” Darcy rolled her eyes as she chose to answer Tony, and the sarcasm was clear in her voice as she addressed the worry-warts. “But she's lying guys. Even if she used a spell like that on me it wouldn't have lasted this long and I. _Would. Have. Noticed_.”

“She keeps assuring me of it,” Brock stroked a thumb across her hand, gaze softening. “But I want to make sure and for that I need a magical expertise.”

“Not moi,” Tony fluttered his hands against his breastbone, face comically exaggerated.

“I know someone I would like to bring in,” Brock announced bluntly, the sharp tones of command having Jack and even the three soldiers straightening subconsciously. “Someone who can ward this place better because let us be honest. Both the Love Goddess and one of my brothers just waltzed right into the Tower last night. Not to mention, the Ker and the others.”

Clint gasped and pointed at him. “Brothers? You have brothers? Why do you have brothers? Do we know them or of them?”

“Why does anyone have brothers?” Bruce muttered as he furiously buffed his glasses against his shirt.

Brock had trailed off with a shrug and flashed a fanged grin at Clint. “I'm on good terms with this one, you’d like him, you share an affinity for bow and arrows,” he informed them. “But his _mother_ ,” her hubby almost snarled the word. “Made him come and bring me the letter... as a fucking wedding present if you can believe that shit. Can't call him anytime soon; so no help on the godly front.”

“Truly?” Thor rumbled and Darcy sent a smirk his way.

“The Olympian kind, big brother,” she winked and the Asgardian grinned back in good humor.

“Then who?” Tony demanded to know. “Who are we calling?”

“Yes,” a new voice startled them all as Pepper Potts strolled into the room. “I would like to know that, too.”

The petite redhead was dressed in an elegant business suit and the way she arched a single well manicured eyebrow at the room in general had everyone as a whole sitting more upright.

Brock was eerily reminded of his own mother.

“Hello, Pepper,” Darcy greeted rising to her feet to embrace the other woman in a tight hug. “When did you fly in?”

“Darcy,” the slender woman pulled back from the embrace to glance her over in a motherly fashion before a worried frown appearing on her face. “Tony filled me in last night.” the CEO of Stark Industries answered. “How are you?”

“Good,” Darcy assured her. “Really. I'm fine.” her smile softened. “Brock has some very _nifty_ connections. He wants to call in his mother. I approve and am so excited!”

“His mother?” Tony questioned and then whipping to point an accusing finger the former mercenaries way. “Your mother?” he repeated. “She's still around?!”

“Around and kicking,” Brock's grin turned feral and gleeful. “You might have heard of her,” he continued with an evil smirk. “The Sorceress Circe.”

Tony who had been drinking from his cup of coffee spurted the holy black liquid of sleepless science filled nights all over the conference table, sputtering and gasping for air among several voices questioning, “Sorceress?”

“I don’t understand that reference,” Steve looked around the room, confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the hugs for my Cowriter [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> She's the most awesome person 🥰
> 
> Another short chapter. My wrist is feeling better again 😁


	36. Mother knows best

With what was becoming a common occurrence these past twenty four hours, the Core team of Avengers and important outliers had assembled within the Common Room once more, awaiting the arrival of this Sorceress that Brock call ‘Mom’.

“ _Not going to take her long, she just needs to set the wards and spells in place to leave the island.”_

Brock had informed them of this earlier accompanied by an arrogant smirk and a purposefully vague shrug of his shoulders. The Soldier was amused at the biting humor the former STRIKE Commander didn’t bother to hide anymore, and knew with absolute certainty he was doing it on purpose to rile Stevie up. He knew this, because it was something a younger James Buchanan Barnes wouldn’t have hesitated to pull on his best bud.

He had also taken note how Darcy's eyes had crinkled in amusement at her husband’s antics, yet she hadn't voiced any Intel that would help Bucky or Natalia discern out what kind of trouble they could expect with this new arrival.

The Soldier desperately tried to analyze and categorize all these possibilities and potential threats he was becoming aware of all too slowly for their piece of mind.

Natalia had said it best to her partner: These were gods and monsters and nothing they had every trained for.

It went without saying that they very much doubted Darcy in particular was as helpless as Steve still wanted to believe her to be. Even before the reveal of her parentage and apparent capabilities, neither Bucky nor the Soldier was ever under the impression that she was helpless. They knew very well that the female of the species could be – and often were- just as deadly and oftentimes far more cunning as their male counterparts.

They had to be.

Case in point: A seemingly helpless and to all accounts lazy and flaky college student tazing the God of Thunder – even a depowered one – while believing he was just another burly drunk who just *happened* to show up in what the two ladies and Doctor Selvig would later describe as a “wholly, unnatural’’ tornado type storm in a desert not known for those …. That wasn’t something to label helpless. It showed initiative and a particular ruthless skill set to remove a threat geared to ensure survival, one that ‘civilized’ morals would be aghast at.

Even had Thor not been an Asgardian deity made flesh, he still outweighed the three of them by a good hundred to two hundred pounds each easily, with over a thousand years worth of proven life and death combat skills and would be a formidable presence should he have decided to be more immediately threatening physically wise as opposed to monologue like a cartoon villain.

Even Jane – Doctor Foster – wasn’t someone they could just dismiss. It was the academics, with their sharp intelligence and ability to detach their emotions while using cold, harsh logic to find the patterns, as well as the single minded focus when those big brains focused on one particular task or desire to see a determined outcome come to fruition. Those were just as deadly if not far more dangerous in the Soldier’s mind as the grunts who took care of the physical obstacles.

Currently, Doctor Foster –Jane- was showing off some of her abilities that she stated were safe enough for mortals to observe: creating small patterns of nebulas, stars, planets, moons and asteroids out of seeming nowhere, the shimmering, almost translucent forms flowing off her fingertips to paint the room in a variety of blues, purples, greens, reds and every other color that she felt like at the moment. It was like visiting the observatory or having one of the Barsoom novels come to life, and under other circumstances, he would be giddy and fascinated with the images dancing about.

While most of them where marveling at the Doctors harmless display of power, Bucky approached Darcy slowly, taking extra care that she and her perceptive husband saw and noticed his approach, making his footsteps audible as he stopped a short distance away, clearing his throat.

“Darcy,” they began, attempting to force their limbs in a modicum of relaxation so as not to give her the impression he would harm her.

“Bucky,” she turned from her observation of Jane’s antics and smiled up at him with a delight unfettered, those stunning blue eyes sparkling. “What can I do for you?”

Turquoise leggings or socks of some kind graced legs he tried very hard not to notice, reaching upward to disappear within the pleated confines of a heavy, woolen tartan plaid a-line skirt whose blue striping matched her leggings, on a solid base color of dark, heather gray. A ribbed knit, off the shoulder sweater of gray and black blocking fell down like a tunic and bared her shoulders, while black calf high quilted boots finished her outfit.

One of her small dainty hands reached out to pat his metal arm affectionately and both, the Soldier and Bucky, preened under her attention. The soothing calm which always seemed to exist in their souls whenever they were near her swept over them like a soft wave the moment her glowing fingers touched the metal of their arm.

It was as if despite the Soldier and the fractured mind that was a mix of James and Bucky were still separate; they could find peace and even common ground, with each other and their surroundings. All their warring views, memories, motives and differing impulses were put aside. It was almost like being whole.

Accepted.

It was an addicting feeling, being at peace with himself, with what they have been forced to do and become over the decades.

The soft glow of Darcy's pale skin was very appealing and he could easily imagine being drawn into her charm even more than he already was.

Enthralled, they had called it.

It felt gentle and comforting with her, not at all like with the Love Goddess who had practically forced her influence onto them. He still wasn't sure how they had not been affected like Rollins had been with Darcy.

Neither Bucky nor the Soldier missed the glowering red gaze set upon them by Darcy's husband; despite having noticeably held himself back from his wife as opposed to the PDA of the other day, he still stood watchful and possessive, equal parts willing to let things unfold yet undoubtedly ready to step in if he felt he was needed.

The almost passive agent was gone; this was a wolf at ready, the blade being unsheathed, the safety removed from the trigger as the sights were zeroed in.

Just one little tenth of pressure and bang, bang my baby shot me down.

“I,” he began after realizing that she was still looking up at him inquiringly and that he had been staring for way too long. “We,” he corrected. “Wanted to know if you … _helped_?”

It was something that had been niggling at their mind since the revelations of the day before, and he wasn’t sure if they were expressing those musings correctly.

Somehow they had caught not only Brock's attention but also Steve's, who walked up to them calmly but curiosity on display. Besides Natalia – Natasha she preferred now- who glanced at them from her place on the couch, no one seemed to have noticed their conversation and was still busy watching Jane using her magic.

“With healing,” he couldn't find the right words and the Soldier decided to take over, voice and eyes switching from _JamesBucky’s_ husky blue to the chilling ice gray of _Soldat_.

“Cognitive recalibration,” he stated matter-of-factly, the thickening accent clipping over the vowels his adoptive culture deemed as unnecessary. “Your presence and touch brings… order to the chaos. It is…soothing. It is not something that occurs with other individuals. You bring revelation of magic and mental capabilities. Did you use magic to nullify our disquiet?”

Darcy removed her fingers from his arm almost hesitantly before nodding. Those piercing, intelligent sapphire eyes held his bravely, and he could almost _see_ the cogs of her mind whirling as she thought over what she wanted to reveal. She licked that full bottom lip, before nodding again, the unbound curls bobbing over her shoulders with the motion.

“Yes,” the little princess finally admitted and confirmed their suspicion.

“How? Is not _consent_ critical to your magic?” the Soldier didn’t mince his words as he thought over all the data that had been given regarding the Olympian magicks.

“I did not do this on a whim or lightly,” Darcy lifted her chin, voice firming and refusing to back down, even amongst the accusation, nor denying her actions. The Soldier had to respect that steely spine.

“The _geas_ all Olympian born are under forbidding us from revealing ourselves to mortal born would not allow me to get the traditional consent,” She continued, warming up, “For that, I do regret, as you have had no choice in your own life for so long. However, it is known that what you desired most was to be whole and I wouldn't have been able to do it if it weren't meant to happen or your own mind –minds, actually- unwilling. It may shock you, _Soldat_ , but you have a very strong will. The recovery process was already in motion and the strands where _there_ , so I _assisted_ in reconnecting them. Sort of like setting them up on a blind date and it’s up to them whether to go through with it or not.”

Darcy kind of fluttered her hands in emphasis.

“Blind date?” enough of _JamesBucky_ thawed out the Soldier enough to gawk and Darcy’s lips quirked.

“What strands?” Steve questioned looking between the two of them. “What does that meant? Darcy, what _did you do?!_ ”

“Watch it, Rogers,” Brock warned as he stepped closer, and they seemed to have gathered quite an audience, Jane's performance had ended.

“Life threads, strands, life spans, life force,” Darcy shrugged, unsure how to put into words concepts that she just _knew_ to her very marrow before trying to explain further, “Whatever you want to call them. Being the daughter of the Underworld’s High King has its advantages as well as consequences. Remember, also when I said I was a Goddess; I was the Blessed Death & Rebirth, the Balance of Life and Death, Goddess of Ghosts, and sometimes … _nightmares_ and _madness_. Those _mean_ something.”

She stepped back a little and blindly reached out towards her husband's chest, her eyes firmly on Bucky’s as her fingers inched closer and suddenly, with a flare of cobalt lighted eyes, there was a bright golden strand for all of them to see.

It almost didn’t seem real; like tinsel or some CGI shit, the golden hued … thing … twined about Darcy’s wrist like it was alive and she was its favorite perch; actually, it must be if that was an actual facts manifestation of Brock’s life force. The braided length had a sparkling tone, but mixed in among all that polished gold, shades of red intermixed, from the burnt burgundy of dried blood to the most dazzling crimson and stunning scarlet, it seemed to pulse in regular intervals like a heartbeat.

Moving her free hand in a delicate, loving caress over the strand absolutely no one could miss the way Brock's eyes flashed ruby and he shuddered, breath hitching and the reds of the strand throbbing in time. Plus, the deep, purr like growl issuing from his chest left no doubt that any pain was mixed with deep pleasure as his lids fell to half mast.

Later, the Avengers would swear they could see an almost hazy reddish outline around Brock mixed with his natural demigod glow, a muted version of Darcy’s to be sure, but stunning nonetheless. It seemed to slither and mold itself to his person like Kevlar body armor, something foreboding yet protective at the same time.

It too, pulsed in time to a beat unheard.

Darcy broke eye contact with Bucky to tilt her head and wink at her hubby naughtily before removing her hand, the golden thread and aura immediately disappearing once more, presumably still there but not for them to see.

“Sweet Gaia have mercy,” Tony’s eyes bulged out of his head and he pivoted on his heel to snag a handy bottle of liquor and didn’t bother with a glass, he just straight out guzzled it.

“Gimme that,” Pepper Potts grabbed the bottle out of her paramour’s hand and took a healthy swig herself.

“Oh. Oh, my,” Bruce turned away and closed his eyes for a moment before his big science brain had him turning back around and peering at Rumlow for any signs of distress.

Brock in turn raised both brows in a clear “What?” gesture.

Thor stared at the one he claimed as _systir_ for a handful of moments before he threw his head back and boomed out into full body shaking laughter. It was a good thing he was lounging about on one of the sectionals.

“Son of a biscuit eater,” Clint whipped out his emergency flask, took a swallow, and handed it over to Natasha without prompting. The archer’s hands shook and he decided sitting down – plopping down really – on the couch was a good idea.

The red haired spy didn’t seem frightened – actually, despite being shocked, she looked almost pleased and contemplative as her brain started to whirl – but kept her eyes focused on Darcy as she took a pull from the flask.

“Dear lord,” Steve was actually a little pale and somehow flushed at the same time. “You really _meant_ it when you said you would _rip his soul out_!”

His eyes were wide and the urge to smack him didn’t originate just from the Soldier.

He should have been called Captain Obvious.

“Duh!” was Jane's snarky commentary from the couch, absently patting Thor’s giant thighs as he attempted to come off his laughing high, completely unfazed by her best friend and pseudo sister’s display of what should be impossible. “She's _the_ Princess of the Underworld! What did you expect?”

 _Gaia,_ but Darcy loved her sister from another mister.

Tony snickered and it was almost manic as he and Pepper passed the bottle of something very expensive and alcoholic back and forth.

“Oh Capsicle! Did you really think she was so helpless?”

Jack squawked in the back of the room, his face pale and beads of sweat on his brow; his fingers twitching, obviously contemplating if he should grab his gun but so far had decided against it.

Good boy, Brock leveled his gaze at his second.

“But to answer your question,” Darcy returned her attention to the Soldier and Bucky. “Nightmares, madness, ghosts, rebirth or renewal; they’re kind of my specialty, I have a, uh, an affinity if you will for the broken. When Steve brought you in your mind just…it _called_ to me, for lack of a better word. Shuri and the Wakandan team did a good job, not going to lie, but you had already been making strides to heal yourself even before then. You _wanted_ to be helped, to become as whole as you could be. I mended parts of your threads but I was only able to do so because it was _meant_ to happen. The Fates and Death decide, not me; I am only a vessel to help, one way or another.” she told them as if she was talking about the weather forecast. “And your strands where just _there_ , ready and more importantly, _willing_.”

She could not stress the ‘willing’ portion enough.

What happened with Jack truly was a mistake; if what her father said was true, than being around so much magic and soaking up all that deity like a magical sponge had hit her like the first time she tasted ambrosia, and magic drunk had threw all that extra power into the nearest vessel …in this case, it was Jack.

Clint peered at them over the back of the couch, shaken, but his innate curiosity pushing to the fore at this new layer in the Darcy puzzle. “That's really nifty, what else can you do?!”

Darcy looked at him for a few seconds before smiling almost sadly.

“I could show you some small things if the circumstances where right, but I've used a lot of magic recently and don't want to over strain,” she demurred softly. “Besides … there's nothing really big, aside from what I just did, that I could show you without either dire consequences to you or myself.”

“Idiot.” Natasha hit Clint over the head.

“Sorry,” the archer did indeed look apologetic as he rubbed the newest tender spot on the back of his head.

“It's alright Clint,” Darcy gave a soft smile. “I know you're just curious.”

She paused and then decided to toss an olive branch her favorite human disaster’s way.

“I used to have wings.”

She felt the warm and comforting hand of her husband slide onto her shoulder and squeeze ever so softly even as the tears gathered in her eyes at what had been ripped away from her. Warmth immediately spreading through her from the contact and reached one hand up to brush her fingers against his.

 _Gaia_ she missed his touch.

“Get out! Really?” Clint perked right up and Darcy laughed, the tears forgotten.

“Wings?” Steve and Bucky mouthed at one another, eyes wide.

“Little Bit was the cutest little cherub that ever graced the Underworld’s skies,” Tony teased in a rumble, despite having not met Darcy before her exile.

“Wings,” Bruce stuttered, and then stared at her back as if expecting to see them manifest.

Which, to be fair, after all the team and company had witnessed wouldn’t seem like that big of a leap to believe.

“Oh yeah; big, fluffy, pearl and gray feathery wings,” she extended her arms out as wide as she could while her wrists gave little imitation ‘flying’ flaps. “Some blues and corally pinks; kind of like the inside of an abalone shell, or a clam, you know?”

“They sound very beautiful,” Pepper smiled at the younger woman and Darcy’s eyes flicked her way, a bittersweet smile crossing her lips.

“Yeah, they had been,” she admitted quietly, smiling down at the ground as she allowed the good memories free reign.

After a moment of silence, Brock rumbled behind her.

“There _is_ something you _could_ show them, _carina_.”

He took a firm, but gentle hold of one of her hands and moved his fingers to press against the knuckles so hers flexed automatically. It took her a moment to realize what he meant and he smirked down at her as her wide eyes shot up to stare at him.

“You got claws remember, _gattina_? Besides, you could show them a little more of your glow, not enough to enthrall them but you know,” he smiled and shrugged almost boyish. “Just to get them jealous.”

She smacked at him with her free hand playfully.

“You're an idiot!”

“Asshole,” he reminded and she wanted to melt at this little glimpse of their recent normal that she missed so. Damn. Much. “I thought we had established that by now?”

“I would smack your dumb ass smirk off your dumb ass face with my claws,” Darcy pouted while attempting to growl at him, scrunching her nose and ignoring the others. “But _you_ being an _asshole_ would enjoy it.”

Brock's eyes flashed a ruby red for a brief moment, arrogant smirk in place but he refused to answer her which only made her huff and roll her eyes.

“Claws?” Clint looked genuinely interested. “You have _claws_ , too?”

It appeared that not only he was interested; the rest of the gathered group of hero's and staff was looking at her too.

“Yup,” she confirmed, popping the ‘p’ and held up her hand in front of her and then smirked. “I do.”

Just like that, her normal rose colored fingernails morphed into sharp silvery claws right in front of them. The thick slivers of bone stretched out almost like mini daggers with the slightest curve at the very tips.

All the better to tear and rend you to pieces with, my dear.

“Whoa,” Clint commented, wise enough not to approach her. Bruce spluttered while Tony whistled softly, tapping the almost empty glass of the bottle.

“Oh my,” Pepper stole Bruce’s go to comment before giving a dainty little hiccup.

“Fascinating,” Thor rumbled and the almost manic glint in his eyes warning Darcy there was to be a sparring session in her life, soon.

Jane, having seen it all before, just cocked a brow and snuggled into Thor and the soft cushion of the couch.

Natasha on the other hand rose to her feet and carefully stepped closer.

“May I?” she gestured to the talons gracing her friend’s hand.

“Sure,” Darcy splayed her hand as if showing off a new manicure, giggling a little at the thought. Brock’s hand slid from hers, down her arm, to tease the bend of her elbow.

“They are sharp Romanov,” Brock grumbled, obviously displeased by the spy’s approach, before he warned. “They can and will cut through your flesh like through butter.”

“Worried about me?” Natasha's voice was full of teasing, while she studied Darcy's hands, fingers and claws carefully. A sly smile appeared on her lips and she looked innocently up at Darcy’s face.

“He's speaking from experience huh?”

She couldn’t see him, but from the way his aura flared and his hand flexed upon her arm, she was certain he was doing that weird male glaring-smirk-combination thing.

Darcy leaned back against his chest, pleased he was allowing her this intimacy, before rolling her head against his shoulder so she could peer up at him.

“Of course he is, my dear,” the deep, sultry voice shocked everyone and Darcy’s head snapped to the side as the shadows opened up to reveal the speaker.

“He is _my_ son after all,” Circe smirked.

~~~

“Intruder Alert!”

“Yeah, great, thanks, we can _see_ that, Jarvis!” Tony rose up from the couch to greet the newest arrival at his Tower.

He was getting really tired of all these people and gods and undead assassins pop in whenever they damn well feel like it in his home.

But … if this really was Wreck-It Rambo’s Momma and who the legends _say_ she is … then she was here to make sure no one else was able to do the same.

It didn’t stop the professional sting of his ‘invincible’ Tower being so easy to breach; then again, he wasn’t dealing with the mundane and magic of this or _any_ caliber wasn’t his forte.

Bad-To-The-Bone’s mother … wasn’t what he was expecting at all. At least, in a physical sense, Brock obviously took after Daddy Dearest, especially since most people didn’t know that a few times growing up he had seen the God of War whom often visited Stark Industries to nettle and harass the elder Stark for messing around in what he felt was no business of a child of Hephaestus.

Where Brock bore the olive complexion and deep, black hair of the dark Grecian-Moorish Sicilians, she was fair both of skin and hair, the latter of which was slicked back into a high ponytail. But her eyes … they were a dark if not the darkest blue he had ever seen, flecks of gold and the slightest bit of green that she shared with her son.

Not that he had stared into the man’s eyes, no sirree! He’d leave that to Itty Bitty.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not, she was dressed in the highest modern designer fashion as opposed to the ancient dresses he had low-key expected her to arrive in. Being insanely rich and having had flings with too many models, actors and actresses, and political and business figures, meant he knew what fashion was. These days he only paid –brief- attention as it was something that gave Pepper true joy, and so he made sure that Pep got the best of the best.

The Sorceress was dressed in a black, halter netted cutout Wow Couture dress with tiered ruffling flaring out at the natural waist once, and again in an almost pencil skit flare. Twin gold Charles Albert cuffs adorned her wrists, and a pair of Giuseppe Zanotti 2.0 ‘Cruel’ three strap heeled sandals in black with the gold ‘shield’ that looked like Hermes’ wings on the front gracing her feet.

One glance was all he needed to realize that underneath that netted material she wore nothing but her natural assets and his eyes snapped away from the hinted shapes beneath like his eyeballs were doused with acid.

If the uncomfortable coughs from his fellow males were anything to go by he wasn’t the only one to notice…things.

“Mom!” Rumlow sighed, and then Tony could see the family resemblance clearly in the look she cast her progeny’s way.

It was the attitude, Tony surmised, and the confident swagger combined with a mocking smirk and lilt to her lips, that unique ability to command a room and fill it with presence. The way she held and comported herself, so at ease in her own skin – don’t think about skin, bad Tony! – And perhaps the slight shape of their eyes.

“Brock,” the Sorceress responded, nodding while opening her arms wide. “Give me a hug.”

“Mo-om!” the former STRIKE commander pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Hush! I wasn’t talking to you,” the accompanying eye roll was _so_ much like Rumlow’s that Tony had to blink.

“Circe!”

A giggling Darcy-shaped object launched itself at Circe, and the sudden smile and happy squeal that beamed from the Sorceress as she caught her son’s wife in her arms had the men sucking in their breath.

 _Gaia_ , she was _stunning._

No wonder Rumlow was chock full of charisma and sex appeal …if that was his Momma than he came by it _naturally_.

“ _Oomph_!” Pepper’s smack to the arm elicited a grunt of surprise more than pain and he gave her a bashfully wounded look.

“I can’t help all the pretty!” he protested, eyes wide.

“Oh, méli (honey), you look like a naughty schoolgirl in that skirt! I love it! I wish I had the boobs and hips to pull it off! Are those stockings or …” the older woman pulled away just far enough to give Darcy a _very_ thorough looking over.

“They’re socks,” Darcy lowered her voice an octave as if sharing some deep, dark secret and raised the edge of her skirt enough to give a glimpse with a Mona Lisa smile.

“How marvelous,” the bombshell blond commented, choosing to ignore the almost pained keen Rumlow issued.

There were some strangled sounds that left more than one of the males throats, Tony noted almost pleased that he wasn't the only one affected.

“I love your dress as well … I am not confident enough in my own body to show it off like this but you do it so tastefully,” Darcy freely admitted as she motioned to the skin on display, her expression wistful and admiring as she softly smiled, “You look absolutely divine, and I should know.”

“To polýtimo korítsi mou (My precious girl), you do this old woman a kindness. And do not be so harsh on yourself; trust me when I say you have absolutely no need to be self-conscious. You could completely make this work for you; you just need some confidence and perhaps even some motivation. My son wouldn’t mind for you to wear something like this, hmm, o gios mou (my son)?”

With a great sigh and an eye roll that mimicked his mothers, “Of course not, _mamma_.”

“My son is very fortunate that he saw you first and the Fates armed Eros with a matching set of arrows that struck true,” she went on, and her smile turned wicked with a playful leer that for some reason didn’t seem awful. “Otherwise, to ómorfo mou louloúdi nárkissou (my beautiful narcissus flower), I would have claimed you as my own.”

“Never would have happened,” Rumlow crossed his arms while his wife continued to giggle happily in his mother's arms while he glowered.

“I would not use that tone and body language with me, child of mine,” Circe’s tone even took that dangerous vibe that Rumlow tended to get on occasion, the one that never changed pitch but there was just such _promise_ and _menace_ that you couldn’t help but realize you’ve been threatened.

“Holy crap, everything scary about Rumlow he learned from mommy,” Clint muttered and Tony couldn’t help but agree with that sentiment.

That was one hot but definitely dangerous woman that had all of his godly senses (as few as he had) tingling and screaming of danger, even though he had only a fraction of the senses of a demigod.

“Oh, Brock, I’d be nice to your mother if I were you.” Darcy’s eyes danced at some inside joke between the three and she almost purred at him, “You _know_ what happens when she gets upset with _you_.”

“You wouldn’t have even met my mother if it weren’t for me,” Rambo: The Hydra Edition seemed to pout as he approached his parent and his spouse.

“Your point?”

A lesser man would have quaked as two pair of blue eyes of varying shades stared him down.

“In Brock’s defense,” Darcy began even as she smacked her husband on the arm at the grin that cropped on his face, “If I were seriously into women I would totally be Natasha or Pepper’s if I could. Prior claim and all that,” she shrugged and batted her lashes at her husband.

“Naturally,” the Widow agreed, pleased.

“That would be so hot,” Clint murmured.

“I would call dibs,” Pepper announced, raising the bottle from her lips into the air and somehow managing to make it look elegant. “But I think Darcy went through enough already, without having to deal with Tony on top of it all.”

There was startled laughter from the group, and Pepper mused with a soft smile that made Tony squawk at the mental image.

“Besides, I think there is some serious business both Darcy and your son want to discuss with you before we come to an agreement about the Tower's magical defenses. Pepper Potts, I am CEO of Stark Industries and paramour to its heir apparent,” she introduced herself with a regal nod.

“Circe,” she responded in kind, meeting the red headed woman's gaze, giving a little nod as well.

“This is my partner Tony Stark,” Pepper gestured and Tony gave an awkward finger wave he was inwardly cringing over.

“Hey, _mi casa es su casa_ ,” and he could have swallowed his tongue. What was he, twelve?

“The Blacksmith’s grandson! You have his passion and intellect,” she praised and the smile she bestowed was warm and kind and Tony swallowed again.

“The other gorgeous redhead is Natasha Romanoff,” Darcy jumped in, and Natasha and Circe seemed to be lazily sizing one another up like big cats meeting for the first time. “She’s just the best; there’s my little Janey Bug, and Prince Thor, Son of Odin, Prince of Asgard.”

“Prince Thor; Lady Jane,” Circe greeted, knowing them by both her son and new daughter’s stories, and delighted to meet them. “I have heard much about you, I feel as if we were family already.”

“Sorceress,” Thor’s acknowledgment was respectful but polite; he would withhold judgment until he had enough time to observe this newest member of Darcy’s inner circle.

“I look forward to getting to know and become a part of Darcy’s new family,” Jane didn’t hesitate to let the Sorceress know she had no intention of giving up her de facto family status just because her bestie was now married to this woman’s son.

“I don’t see a problem with that,” Circe gave an indulgent smirk to the fierce little Muse.

While their magic was not nearly as powerful as say, a nymph, or even demigod, this Muse was becoming a Power in her own right and was nothing to sneer at either.

“That’s Clint, our sniper and archer, leaning against the couch,” Clint gave a little two finger salute at Darcy’s continued introduction but otherwise kept silent as he knew when he was outclassed and didn’t want to rock the boat yet.

“And that’s Doctor Bruce Banner trying to become one with the furniture.”

“Doctor Banner,” Circe purred, lips curling as she took in the man whom she could sense was more than what he appeared. Something hurt and full of pained rage lived within his blood, and his aura was saturated and surrounded the fluffy haired man like a balloon not quite inflated.

There was a potential for something _big_ behind those eyes.

“Um, hello,” Banner gave a weak smile before turning his eyes to the glasses he surely would use to rub a hole in his various shirts.

“There’s Jack in the corner; he’s on guard duty.”

“Brock’s Jack?” Circe’s eyes seemed to light up and she tossed a wink the burly Australian’s way, who was coughing in sync with Brock’s snort.

“He’s not mine, ma,” Brock sighed.

“Yep! _Brock’s_ Jack, Jack Rollins,” Darcy confirmed, grinning and sticking her tongue out at her spouse.

“I owe you thanks for putting up with and watching over my son, Jack Rollins,” Circe informed the man, a serious mien in her eyes despite the smile lurking on her lips.

“That’s not necessary, _sheila_ , just doing my job,” Jack looked more than a little flushed, a bit uncomfortable, yes, at the attention.

“Oh! What an accent, how lovely! Perhaps. But still…” Circe quirked a brow and Jack had seen that look on his best mate’s face that he sighed resigned to his fate.

Brock’s mom was going to thank him whether he liked it or not.

“And finally, this is Captain Steve Rogers; know as Captain America, and his best buddy and better half, James Barnes.”

“The Captain and the Soldier,” Circe eyed the two men who had served as rivals for her daughter’s affections.

She couldn’t say she was displeased. Physically, they were very nice specimens of the male variety, and it was no wonder Darcy had tried her best to be platonic with this entire roomful of pretty.

“Ma’am. Pleasure to meet your acquaintance,” the Captain’s ears and neck were flush, and Circe bit back amusement. She doubted this man was untouched by a woman; yet that didn’t mean that he knew how to interact.

“Likewise, Captain.”

The silent dark haired man by his side … oh yes. That whirling mind slipping through thoughts and personalities so quickly …. Circe watched with fascination as the man’s mind flipped through, eyes shifting colors, before settling on an interesting in between shade of blue and stormy gray.

“Ma’am.” The gruff tone bore the slightest hint of an accent the darker ginger woman bore.

“These are the core of the team known as the Avengers; the modern, mortal version of the Old Guard. There are a few more, Sam Wilson, Colonel Rhodes, Wanda, and the Vision, but they are currently occupied and out of the Tower at the moment.”

“Don’t forget the Spider-kid,” Clint grunted and all four women of the tower made displeased noises at him.

“Tony’s bumbling attempts at illegally adopting children in need of a father figure to compensate for his own lack notwithstanding,” Pepper glared at the archer as Tony spluttered, who tucked his head into his shoulders at the look. “Spider-Man is not an official Avenger, and he _shouldn’t be_ , until, say he’s _not_ considered a _minor_ any longer?”

“Well then,” Circe clapped her hands, breaking the awkward silence. “Nice to meet you all. I didn’t expect to be able to meet you all so soon. My son is not a very demonstrative man.”

“Didn’t know Crusty here even had a mom; guess we all thought he popped out fully grown from under a rock or something,” Tony shrugged.

“Tony!”

“What! It’s true! No one can get in as much trouble as he can without having just been created that way. Why else would we bring in his momma to fix things?”

“You just left!” Circe accused, exasperated, before settling her eyes upon her son. “How can you be in trouble, _again_? I swear by all that’s unholy you did _not_ get that trait from _me_.”

“It's not my fault,” Brock grunted out, crossing his arms stubbornly in an attempt not to reach out and pull his wife from his mother's arms into his own. “I need you to check over Darcy,” he informed her. “The Love Goddess put a love spell on her and I need you to lift it.”

“That bitch did something to Darcy?” His mother's eyebrows shoot up and her gaze swept over Darcy in concern.

The air seemed to vibrate in what they were coming to recognize as magic, concentrating on Darcy’s form.

“She didn't,” her lovely daughter in law insisted, pouting plush burgundy painted lips at Brock before returning her attention back to her mother in law. “She did write him a letter claiming that she did; had E drop it off under the guise of a wedding gift. He _believes_ her despite my assurance that I'm _not_ under a spell.”

Darcy huffed, crossing her own arms.

“I'm neither _that_ powerless _nor_ oblivious. I would have noticed something like that. Not once did we see one another while on Olympus. We just met with Helios’s successor and the Winged Footed Interference before my little Rainbow Brite took us back to your place.”

Both Darcy and Brock made faces at their various interactions with Apollo and Hermes.

“I see,” Circe hummed thoughtfully. “I'll thoroughly check you for any kinds of spells in any case; let’s not dick around where that moronic matron is concerned. Honestly, you would think she had nothing else to do, the way she interferes. I’d say she needs to get laid but…” she gave a shrug as she turned on those heels, “Perhaps you should get comfortable on that couch? Let me inspect your socks, too?”

Brock rubbed the bridge of his nose once more before grousing out an almost desperate, “Mother, no!”

“What?” she questioned innocently. “They’re only socks, dear. Honestly. You got the weirdest kinks I have ever heard, and I lived through the Illiad, darling. I'll need the letter and my equipment.”

With those words she snapped her fingers, the abrupt topic change would be jarring but it must say something about the crazy in their life that they just went with it.

“Odysseus darling, be a dear and bring me my red leather bag,” she commanded and the Tower’s occupants just stared at the huge and heavily armored boar that appeared out of nowhere.

The boar was easily tall enough he reached Thor's middle and wore heavy looking armor straight out of a Tolkien movie, a mix between leather and metal plating, straps and buckles and spikes and gilded tusks. Four huge bags were secured to its flanks.

The hooves of the monstrosity of the beast moved in an almost lazy pattern as he stepped closer to his mistress, who patted his armored head in a loving manner.

“Good boy,” she cooed, “I knew why I packed just in case.”

She turned her attention back towards Darcy. “I really wanted a daughter but no!”

Darcy patted her hand affectionately.

“There, there, you have me now.” she sounded amused and pleased. “Although I think I'm one of the reasons he gets into trouble all the time now.”

“You're the only reason I get into trouble at all sweetheart.”

Everyone's attention was drawn to one of the bags, when it wiggled and moved until the cover fell back to reveal a small, pitch black teacup piggy no more than a foot in length. It shook and glowered at everyone with unnaturally green eyes and oinked the cutest demand.

With a groan of exasperation Brock grumped.

“Did you have to bring _him_?!”

Commander and Piglet glared balefully at one another in a staring battle of will before Thor's booming laughter renewed at the sight of his brother and he rose to approach Odysseus who allowed him to pat his armored hide, tail whirling madly.

“‘Tis a fine beast, Sorceress,” he approved of Odysseus, giving one more sharp slap to the tough hide.

“He is,” Circe agreed.

“My lady of the heart,” the Prince chuckled deeply while turning his head to look at Jane. “Come and see this marvelous _tiny_ _creature_!”

With those words he quickly plucked the struggling and squealing form of tea-cup piggy Loki out of the traveling bag attached to Odysseus’ side.

“Behold,” he grinned widely, a particular mischievous glee and satisfaction in his voice, “This creature wears a green cape!” before slyly adding. “ _Loki_ would approve of this!”

“Would he?” Circe tilted her head, big blue eyes so innocent as her hands reached into another bag, searching for her athame and potion needed.

Tony stared wide eyed before he managed to rasp out, “Nah, Reindeer Games wouldn't approve unless the little thing had a golden and very horny helmet.”

 _Please don’t let that be Loki,_ was his desperate thought.

Darcy giggled freely at the indignant, protesting squeals, knowing that Thor knew _exactly_ whom he was holding.

“I thought Loki preferred serpent forms?” she couldn’t resist joining in on the sibling needling.

Piggy Loki had a whole series of grunts, snorts, squeals, and oinks to say to that.

“Aye, Lighting Sister, but only just to confuse me as they are my favorite creatures,” Thor nodded his head, heavy hands stroking and scratching behind little pink ears.

Despite himself, Piggy Loki couldn’t help his current forms pleased little grunts as his brother got to a particular little itch he didn’t know needed to be scratched.

“If he’s the same stock as ole’ Odysseus here, he’ll _turn_ into a regular _giant_ ,” and Darcy just about lost it.

“I’m surrounded by idiots,” Brock sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly from [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> send her all of your love guys! I seriously feel like I only did a third of the work here!
> 
> Note - Chapter 2 has been updated (I corrected some mistakes and grammar issues)
> 
> As inspiration for Circe we chose Katheryn Winnick
> 
> Circe's dress:  
> 
> 
> Circe's shoes:  
> 


	37. Pivot

Pacing wasn’t the best solution for the spread of emotions vying for priority as they layered one over the other.

Pivoting sharply on his heel as he finished a set, Brock’s eyes never wavered from the pair on the sofa. Beginning his prowl to the opposite end of his pre-determined perimeter, he watched his mother mutter and flutter through spells and potions with ill-contained nervousness, despite Darcy's various assurances that she wasn't under any kind of spell; his fear of losing her was almost consuming his whole being.

With every of his mother's hummed sounds and the occasional clicking of her tongue he felt his anxiety spike and the mounting tension coiling already taut muscles.

He gave an absentminded nudge with his foot to one of Odysseus’s massive hindquarters and the giant boar gave a pleased grunt as he lay against the couch near his mistress, eyes already at half mast and one large foreleg draped across little Piggy! Loki. Loki who still in disguise was at the mercy of its youthful form, and was drowsing in a brief nap, little snorts and grunts snoring a rhythm as he cuddled against the larger presence.

He wasn't the only one watching the whole process in a mixture of emotions.

Brock was very aware of the Soldier’s attention on his movements, as well as Romanoff's. Both of them watching him like hawks. Unlike Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, who was playing Tetris on his phone.

Normally that would irritate him; it still did, but he had bigger issues to worry about.

Yet Brock was confident that the Avenger’s original sniper was all too aware of the goings on about him and for a moment, Brock was insanely envious of that ability to settle into seeming inactivity only to be ready at a moment’s notice. Usually a few beats before even the enhanced among them.

Fucking snipers.

Creepy little shits the lot of them.

Explains some of Barnes and the Soldier’s little quirks.

Snipers.

Natasha was just damn nosy.

Curiously enough Bruce Banner had approached his mother and Darcy, watching in open fascination despite the fact that most magic went unseen.

But maybe …? Was it possible that the Hulk could pick up on magic? Maybe even see it? It was very likely he could feel it since they had said that he had reacted rather strongly to Hades appearance.

Now that he thought about it, his little wifey had always been one of the few people who could always enter Dr. Banner's lab, even when the doctor was in a bad mood and others would have fled three times over.

“ _Nightmares, madness, ghosts, rebirth or renewal; they’re kind of my specialty, I have a, uh, an affinity if you will for the broken.”_

“ _When Steve brought you in your mind just…it called to me, for lack of a better word.”_

Her voice rang in his head.

Had his own mind called to her too? The broken bits of his soul, or what was left off it after all he had done during his father's _training_ ; all the gruesome things he witnessed and did while working for both Zeus and Hydra, as well as Shield?

If she could see his soul, she must realize how broken he truly was.

How he yearned for love and acceptance.

Hers in particular.

 _Five days_.

It had taken Darcy five days to banish his nightmares, he realized with sudden clarity, causing his foot to pause mid-raise.

The Russian Brotherhood both raised their brows in sync while Clint shifted to a more comfortable position and Brock leveled them with a look.

How the hell did most people not make the connection that the Black Widow’s mentor was the fucking Winter Soldier, he would never know.

So many things had happened in less than a week that only now he realized that not once had he awoken from a nightmare of a battle or the memories of being buried alive underneath the rubble of the Triskelion.

But surely she would have asked him for permission to ease the memories?

On the other hand, didn't the Favor force her to make sure he was well taken care of and wished for nothing?

 _What if she did it unconsciously,_ his mind suggested, she herself said she was strong enough to ignore most of the Favor's effects on her.

He himself did most of his magic on an unconscious level much to his mother's annoyance; it was entirely possible she had eased his nightmares without noticing it.

~~~

“I can feel you hovering and it’s not going to speed things up,” Circe hummed a reproach, deftly ignored the snickers of her son’s compatriots and not taking her own gaze off the paper she held and clicked her tongue in distaste while reading through the letter before she turned her gaze upon Darcy who was propped against the fluff of the couch in a comfortable repose upon the pillows while waiting patiently for her ‘magical-checkup’ as she had giggling termed it.

“Ready?” The girl almost vibrated in her spot, clearly anxious and impatient to be cleared and set her husband’s mind at ease.

“Almost,” she smiled at the younger woman.

Reaching over, Circe lit the paper and its spiteful contents on fire with a soft command in her native tongue, inwardly pleased at the hisses of surprise at the tiniest showing of her power and let the ashes fall into an awaiting mortar, the spell’s ingredients already ground and waiting the final bit.Moving the marble pestle as she added fresh olive oil and heavenly smelling lavender-rose water, she gave it a good stir.

Tapping off the excess within the mortar, she placed the pestle on the cloth by her side and brought the bladed athame to her wrist, barely even registering the slight sting as the blade eagerly split her flesh, habit long inuring her to such a little sacrifice.

A few beads of blood dripped down and with a swipe of her tongue over the slight wound was in no danger.

Spitting into the concoction, she muttered a few more words, the language again that of her native tongue, a unique dialect of the Aegean islands lost long before even the Crete or Mycenaean’s began to cross the waters to breed into the ancient Greeks of lore.

This time, the contents within the marble bowl lit, and a noticeably teal colored smoke began to rise.Symbols that looked like flecks of burning embers glinted like gilded gold specs, twisting and curling, something not quite pictographic nor was it completely runic, offset by the teal of the smoke.

It was beautiful.

A few more symbols and some chanting, and the smoke and symbols disappeared with a loud popping noise.Even the scent of lavender and rose was quick to fade.

“Symbols, almost like …” Banner blinked as he talked to himself and Jane interrupted with the same look begrudgingly respectful fascination, “Like an equation! Did you see that pattern that looked like this…?”

And the Brain Trust was off.

“Magic, duh,” Tony rolled his eyes to the other two’s grumbles but his eyes had been just as riveted. The magic in his own blood had stood up to take notice and he was sure there was something there, like an itch he couldn’t get to.

“Exactly,” Circe’s smile would have put the Mona Lisa’s to shame, and she looked extremely satisfied.

“I thought I saw the rune for ‘love’ but I can’t be sure, it … it morphed into something else,” Jane pouted, scowling at the space the smoke and gilded runes had been as if she could guilt them back to life.

“A keen eye, Doctor,” Circe praised, a little half nod in the petite woman’s direction. “One of them; the Hunt yielded no spell from the Love Goddess, although those first symbols,” and she drew them with her finger in the air, “Show that yes, it was her hand that wrote this missive, but no, there was no addition of any spell or fetch upon either the ink, the paper, nor the pattern and placement of the words and phrases.”

“Which means….?” Clint prompted, still fiddling with his phone, though noticeably slower, head canted to the side.

“That it was just a letter with no additional bruja-ja,” Tony drummed his fingers against his pants leg.

“She CSI’d the letter and found it lacking of any harmful effects,” Bruce translated for their audience.

“I get that reference,” Bucky grinned even as he grunted as Steve’s elbow connected with his arm.

“Jerk.”

“Punk,” Bucky stepped closer to the couch, avoiding another elbow.

“A one woman forensics team,” Natasha quirked a brow, the only sign the Widow was impressed. She and Pepper were sipping brightly colored cocktails from twisty straws and little paper umbrellas garnishing the tops.

“Handy,” Pepper agreed, humming happily at the sweet coconut Kahlua flavor she was partaking of.

“Bonzer,” Jack muttered, still a bit wigged, but hey, he must be coming around or just hit the limit of the amount of shit he could be freaked out over and just going with it. The colors were pretty he would admit.

“Tell me what happened since you've left, Sweetness.” the sorceress requested of her daughter in law, moving to sit beside her, cool fingers moving to stroke over her wrist in a comforting manner, getting the first taste of her magical signature.

Darcy blushed a lovely shade of red and bit the inside of her cheeks. “I might have absorbed some of the magic that was present on Olympus,” she admitted, absently fumbling to play with her hair.

“You do seem different.” Circe mused sensing the spike of power immediately without even having to delve past a touch. “I've not taken note of it before but your magic … it tastes more potent. I did not sense anything the night of your return from the Summons, nor in the time that followed before you left. Interesting.”

“Well,” Darcy hemmed, free hand plucking and worrying the hem of her skirt, flashing those turquoise socks. “All that power – I think someone mentioned like a sponge? Anyway, it just…bubbled over when Brock and I re-entered the mortal realm in his apartment. I'm afraid I used it to enthrall Jack after our arrival. Accidentally. I didn't mean to. Brock says we both were kind of out of it, and he didn’t even realize until it was too late.”

Circe's eyes swept over the tall Australian, studying him very carefully, before returning her gaze upon Darcy.

“He doesn't look enthralled and I've seen more enthrallments than I care for.”

That dry sarcastic humor was all Rumlow.

Jack gave a pained whine of a sound but otherwise didn't say anything.

“He's not,” Darcy quickly assured. “Not anymore. It was an accident. I've never enthralled anyone before and he was just … at the wrong place at the wrong time.” she blushed furiously in embarrassment before admitting. “Dad helped me fix it. He thought it might have happened because Jack touched me after having drawn his gun on us when we appeared and it just happened in an unconscious self-defense reflex.” she turned to settle her blue eyes upon Jack before firmly stating. “It's _never_ going to happen again.”

“Accidents happen,” Circe tisked, the symbols she was drawing upon Darcy’s wrists glowing briefly before settling into the soft skin and seemingly to travel up her arm. “I don’t say that to make light of the situation and it is serious. But…it could have been a lot worse and it wasn’t. You were able to control it to an extent, and a very fast learner, if a quick session with your father allowed you to do such a good job reversing the thrall.”

Circe gave a soft smile and brought Darcy’s wrist up to her mouth and placed a soft kiss.

“Although, I can’t say I’m surprised. I should have realized this was going to happen, and warn you before you left but it didn’t even occur to me then and for that _I_ apologize. You were banished before you developed the majority of your powers, let alone receive any training for their use. It's to be expected that with the beginnings of what looks like their return, that there would be some adjustment period. Particularly since your powers are a mix of the natural process of your body fighting the All Ruling Idiot’s binding, as well as the magical boost both on Olympus and as recent as the day before.”

Circe settled firm, serious yet knowing eyes upon her son, a silent, goading accusation happening to which none of them was privy to.

Brock crossed his arms and looked away with an annoyed huff. “I didn't do anything wrong,”

“I don’t understand,” Darcy frowned, “What did you think he did?”

“Nonsense,” Circe narrowed her eyes at her son, moving fingers over Darcy's underarm, where she had cut herself the previous day, there wasn't the barest hint of a scar left…physically at least.

To Circe’s hunting magic the familiar taste and feel of her son’s magic was like a giant “X” marks the spot. Her nostrils flared as she took a deep breath, taking in more than just air for her lungs, and she licked her lips.

“You exchanged blood with her. Brock, you _moron_!”

A few more choice words in her native tongue that were certainly not complimentary didn’t help his mood.

“I healed her cut,” Brock growled out, his brother's warning echoing in his mind at the last minute like a delayed warning. “A small cut, nothing more.”

“Oh, the cut from the ritual?”

“You shared blood with her after a ritual? Gaia take me for a _fool_!”

Rising from her position on the couch, her body seemed to flow like the ocean over the rocky shore, her liquid movements lithe and graceful, yet there was the underlying hint of danger as Circe faced off with her offspring.

Natasha admired the sinfully regal movement and recognized the modified fighting stance, having done the same many a times on missions in the past.

“That is stupid,” Tony agreed. Even he knew blood sharing – especially after a ritual – was not the smartest of ideas.

“Understatement,” Jane bopped her head.

She gave her sister friend a glare.

Darcy should know better!

“I don’t see what the problem is, mother,” Brock was glaring right back and both ignoring Darcy’s widening eyes.

Odysseus and Loki had woken up at some point, likely alerted by the tempers and magic the two fuming family members were exuding, albeit subconsciously.

The enormous battle hog grunted and nudged his mistress, side eyeing her progeny with an unimpressed glare.Loki squealed in either distress or agreement as Thor’s powerful hand came to rest on his caped back and held him secure.

“What ritual?” Bucky queried quietly, but neither parent nor child heard him over the argument, but Darcy did as close as he was to the back of the sofa.

“To Summon my father from the Underworld to meet Brock,” she answered him just as quietly.

“You used your _own_ blood to call to your blood kin in a ritual and then ‘Bones there used his own version of blood magic on top of that? Don’t seem so smart to me, Doll,” Bucky raised both brows and Darcy flushed at the implications she had never considered before they tuned into what Circe was heatedly growling to her son.

“Blood magic is a gifted curse from _both_ sides of the family, boy! And your sire’s line has some interesting…responses to using and accepting blood exchanges. You know this!”

“What’s the harm? She is healed and no scars, I say that’s a win.”

“A win … have you gone mad? This is no laughing matter! It is one of the most powerful abilities and not to be taken or used lightly, even among those we hold dearest. Perhaps, _especially, even_ , not done to those closest to our hearts. Blood is Life! Blood is Death! _She_ is a Child of the Life of Spring and Finality of Death. Blood binds us all, father to son, mother to daughter, parent to child. There is a _reason_ the most ancient and sacred rites are sealed by blood or sex or both. It is _power_ , absolute.”

“And Darcy got some of my power; specifically, my healing factor,” Brock shrugged and spread his arms out.

“I have raised an _idiot_. Have you learned nothing from me, child? Or did your father knock that out of you, as well?” Circe’s eyes lit with a subtle glow, frustration palpable.

“Oh, _shit,_ ” Tony’s eyes nearly bugged out of his face, jaw dropping, and mind going the speed of his suits.

“Watch it, Mother,” Brock’s eyes began to darken and glimmer like blooded rubies.

Odysseus gave a rumbling yowl, raising his considerable girth to come to his mistress’s aid, unafraid of the War God’s son and his abilities.His guttural bellow was a challenge in its own right, and Steve was suddenly reminded that the boar stood _almost to Thor’s chest!_ Those massive hooves and tusks could dismember a man and break his bones with no effort.

“Wait, hold it you two! Calm down! Time out, _por favor_!” Darcy blinked and interrupted them, waving her hands around nervously. When she had their attention she continued, beseeching her husband, “What do you mean you've exchanged blood with me? I thought you used some kind of healing spell thingy?”

“I nicked my tongue,” Brock answered her, cheeks warming both with the memory and feeling like he was five years old learning his first spell at his mother’s knee. “And licked it into your cut while we were waiting for your father's arrival, so when exactly could I have used a potion or a spell? The blood sped up the healing. Out of the both of us, my demigod physiology was up to the task, your body heals too slowly, still, like a mortals. The blood shouldn't do anything more than heal that cut,” he looked thoughtful for a moment. “Blood magic is all about the intention of the user, just like your own powers, Darce. I _intended_ to heal you so _technically_ it was a healing spell _thingy_.”

“Vampires,” Clint's muttered commentary came from the sideline, where the group had been looking back and forth between the family disagreement like viewers in a tennis match.

From somewhere he had once again gotten a bowl of popcorn, munching away happily even as Darcy narrowed her eyes at him. He only smiled sheepish and offered her the bowl to which she shook her head in the negative.

“Oh,” Darcy blinked at her husband. “Okay…?”

“Idiots,” Circe hissed, gritting her teeth and closing her eyes. She held her breath for a count of ten before slowly releasing it. Odysseus stood guard at her side, beady eyes staring Brock down.

“Consent and intention; I agreed to Brock’s…ministrations,” and Darcy’s blush made it known what had likely went down, “and he said his intentions were to heal. And it did.”

“Hmm,” Circe grunted, only slightly amused but hoping the gravity of what she had said would find root and stay.

She held up her athame and gesturing towards her potion bottle. “I'm going to need a drop of your blood dearest,” she informed Darcy, suddenly weary and not just from the effort to arrive in the Tower. “We need to look you over _now_!”

~~~

That had been well over an hour ago and Brock was getting twitchy, as his pacing a perimeter could attest.He hated arguing with his mom; hated even worse that his charges, his subordinate (but still best friend), and his employers were there to witness.

It didn’t help that his brain just couldn’t stop focusing in on what both his mom and brother had said and he wondered if this was something that was going to come out and bite him and Darcy in the ass later on.

Upon reflection, out of the heat of the moment, he could see her point but at the same time it was also aggravating that she was missing _his_ point.

Couldn’t they ever get a break?

And damn it, he still hadn’t got his hug from his mom and didn’t know if that was even an option at the moment.

At least he hadn’t been turned into a pig yet. There was that to be thankful for. Brock cast a glance Loki’s way, but the Asgardian Jotun Prince was currently engaged in staring at his mother as she went about her business.

His fingers twitched, aching to caress the pommels of his blades, and slight movement out of his eye saw Thor adjusting his position, a knowing look on his face.

Thor must have wanted to make Loki into bacon strips once at least at one point himself in his millennia. Gaia knew if he had the option the majority of his siblings, both the Divine and the demis, would be less some skin and blood, and perhaps, even, a life or two.

“Hmm,” his mother hummed once more and the familiar tell drew him out of his musings. “I’ve finished my examination; physical and otherwise,” she declared with her ocean green eyes on Darcy’s figure as her hands went about the task of tidying up her various vials and ingredient minutiae. “You want to tell him the news, Sweetness?”

Darcy sat up on the couch nodding softly at his mother before she turned to gaze at him.

“I have no spell on me, hey!” She sing-songed to the familiar Disney-themed song. “I’m a real girl! No…enhancements…from your not-quite-a-stepmom or any of the rest of the Olympic horde.”

Her sapphire blue eyes suddenly danced with mischief.

“My bad taste in falling for assholes on the other hand comes by naturally.”

For the briefest of moments he was frozen in place before her words sunk in fully and he found himself shutting his eyes.

“She’s okay?” he asked, throat tightening with emotion. He forced himself to keep breathing steady, but his heart was telling years of training be damned and starting to pump like a Gendry at the bellows.

“She’s okay,” Circe agreed, alarm he couldn’t see as he still had his eyes shut crossing her face and she passed by her gargantuan protector and carefully approached her son.

“There’s no spell?” he repeated, voice falling quieter, and the Avengers sat up in notice.

“No spell,” she reassured him, body tense as dread crept up her spine.

“No spell,” he reiterated, flat and dull and with a keening cry he fell to his knees.

“Brock?!”

Several people started shouting, his name bandied about, but the ringing in his ears and the almost sickening twist to his stomach made him want to hurl. There was some sort of vice about his heart and his lungs; his lips were feeling fuzzy and his chest was burning and when did that happen? Did Banner somehow Hulk out and sit on him without his notice?

“Brock? Brock, you need to listen to me, my son. Breathe! Gaia! _Andrà tutto bene, ragazzo mio_ (It’s going to be okay my boy). _Se chreiázomai na anoíxeis to stóma sou kai na anapnéfseis. Aplá anépnefse. Oríste._ (I need you open your mouth and breathe. Just breathe. There you go.)”

Strong hands, familiar and soothing, kept his swaying body from crashing further into the ground, and he could do nothing but sluggishly hold on and bury his head into his mother’s torso and sob in her embrace in a way he hadn’t since Ares snatched him up when he was ‘of age’.

The mix of Italian and Greek flowed over him and he dove for that comfort and grasped it with two, desperate metaphorical hands.

“I’m here, Brock, I’m here. Let it all out, that’s a good boy. Get it all out. Shh, I’m here, I’m here,” Circe crooned around wordless, humming comforts while carding her hands through the dark, thick locks he inherited from his father, allowing her nails to scratch at his scalp the way she knew he liked.

“ _Stai andando così bene e sono così orgoglioso. Respira, respira con me. Dentro e fuori, dentro e fuori. Questo è tutto._ ( You are doing so well and I am so proud. Breathe, just breathe with me. In and out, in an out. That's it.),” Circe continued to stroke his head and neck through the stranglehold he held about her waist, hands clutching desperately.

She couldn’t make out the words he was saying initially, as they were muffled against her skin and what little fabric there was of this dress her son purchased for her on a dare. When she did, her heart, and that of all those around who could understand him, did as well.

“I didn’t. I didn’t do it then, did I mamma? I didn’t rape my wife, oh Gaia, thank you, _Gaía, efcharistó pou den me víazes ti gynaíka mou_ (Gaia, thank you for not having me rape my own wife.)”

“Shit, mate,” Jack swore. He stood a bit awkwardly nearby, having left his place in the corner when his best mate had dropped to his knees.

Never in all the years had he known him had this ever happened. Seeing his best mate brought literally to his knees for thinking that he had used magic to rape his wife …. And shit. Now he was really going to have to forgive Darcy a lot sooner than he felt she warranted.

Fucking Brock thought he did to Darcy what she had in a way done to his own will.

Damn it.

“Fuck, me,” Clint swore, dropping the handful of popcorn and looking sick, as he shoved the bowl away, appetite completely gone.

“Gaia,” Tony swore and he jumped up and paced away, pale and shaky. “Shit, fuck.”

“I’ll be damned,” Steve swore and Bucky choked out a wheezing laugh full of bitter empathy as Tony’s eyes grew like saucers and pointed at Steve with a dropped jaw.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Circe dropped her chin and hugged his head and neck tighter against her, heart pounding. “Oh, sweetheart, no; No, you did _NOT_ rape your wife, she’s fine, she’s alright, and look she’s waiting for you on the couch. Just look.”

Slowly, so slowly, as if he were afraid, Brock took in great, heaving lungfuls of air and braced himself to look in his wife’s direction.

She looked wrecked. Matching tears rolled down her face, blotchy patches from her tears staining her nose and cheeks, red rim eyes and the sheen of tears hiding those sapphire eyes from his sight.

Lip trembling, she held out her arms, a mucus-y sob popping in her throat as she just said his name.

“Brock!”

That tiny plea of her voice seemed to ignite the lava in his blood. Strength and need burned through the remaining fatigue in his limbs, and he released his mother, lunging gracelessly to his feet and nearly flopping toward her as fast as possible only to stop and kneel in front of her still seated form.

Very nearly prostrating in supplication, he pressed his body between her legs, muscular, toned, sock wreathed calves which eagerly wrapped around his waist and crushed her small form against his own larger frame.

Her own arms were open and wide and hugged him closer still, despite their already very close proximity. Darcy's delicate fingers moved through his hair when he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

He needed to feel her close; to inhale her scent and soothe the savage raging within.

“I love you,” she whispered into his ear, nibbling softly on his earlobe. “Truly and always. The how may have been rough, but I _choose you,_ Brock Rumlow, I choose you.”

Despite the overwhelming feeling of relief and love, of possessiveness and the need to wrap her up and take her some place private he couldn't help but tease her.

“I know.” A shadow of his usual cock-sure smirk graced his lips.

”D’awww, he Han Solo’d her!” Clint sniffled and Darcy didn't even try to contain her amusement and allowed her body to shake with her giggles even as she pulled her husband closer again, relishing the feel of finally being able to wrap her arms firmly around his neck.

And he let her do it.

She wasn't the only one amused; he heard a few more laughs and snorts from the other occupants of the room.

“Truly,” Circe drolly intoned, one eyebrow raised. “You, my son, are more fortunate than I thought. Do have the decency to reply in kind.”

“I do,” Brock huffed against Darcy's neck, voice rumbling with happiness and in the return of their teasing banter. “Every day,” his mouth trailed up her neck, uncaring of their audience in light of the best news he had heard so far. “I tell her how lucky I am.”

A short nibble to her ear had Darcy giggling once more. “And how much I love her.”

Arms wrapped snugly around his still softly laughing wife Brock rose to his feet, eyes ablaze he turned to smirk at his mother. “In fact, I think I'm pretty decent not showing her exactly how much I love her right here and now.”

“Brock!” Darcy ineffectively swatted at his biceps.

“It truly is a miracle you survived meeting Hades,” his mother rolled her eyes at the bravado, but relieved. “Thrice!”

“Get a room!” Clint jeered.

“Oh for crying out loud,” Bruce brought his hands to his temples and shut his eyes. Sometimes he really wondered about the archer. Hulk rumbled about his ‘Arrow Man’ and Banner tried to shake off the voice.

“Aye,” Thor boomed, plucking a squalling Loki up to cuddle against his chest, and grabbing Jane’s hand. “We should allow them to celebrate their love after such a fright,” he announced, rising to his feet and nodding his head towards both of them. “Although I have doubted any kind of foul spell, since neither of your parents or our mutual friends would have stood by and not act in such a case,” he trailed off with a shake of his head, there was no doubt he was talking about Loki. “I'm most joyful to see your love is true.”

“Yes, yes” Tony agreed. “Weddings; I love weddings! Drinks all around!” he raised a bottle of rum with the reference, rolling his eyes. “I'll have the cooks prepare a feast for tonight, now shoo, off you go, no one wants to see the two of you clawing and biting at each other.” Tony announced before turning to bat his eyes at Pepper. “You'll help me figure out a deal with Lady Circe, right?!”

“For my twelve percent of the Tower,” Pepper told him with an arched eyebrow. “Sure.”

The laughter of everyone had Tony pouting. “Et tu, Pep?!”

~~~

Steve sighed as everyone quickly began to make their exits and shared a look with Bucky or the Soldier; he couldn't be too sure at the moment. Not after everything that had just been revealed. How hadn't he noticed his best friend and lover coming to terms with the Soldier who he once viewed as an enemy?

He remembered those early days, when he had brought him in from the cold.He and the doctors had been trying so hard to bring _Bucky_ back, when the truth was, Bucky - _his Bucky_ \- was damaged beyond repair and the only thing keeping his very soul together apparently was the Soldier.

In just two days his entire world view had been shattered once more.

More than Nordic so called 'Gods' were real.

The Greek Gods of old were as real as Thor standing before them.

Darcy.

Darcy was a princess, the princess of the Underworld … and once had even been a practically immortal being.

That is …

Until she dared to fight for her own choice and had promptly been punished by their sick and twisted society.

Despite it all she had found happiness and love.

There was no denying it. Just one look at the embracing pair told him all that he needed to know. They loved each other deeply.

Brock Rumlow, a man who he once considered to be an enemy, had hid his true nature behind the facade of an arrogant asshole and successfully fooled them all.The same man who just moments ago was brought to his knees at the relief of finding out he hadn’t raped his own wife … just that thought made Steve want to vomit. He had no idea how the man in front of him could stand it; guess he didn’t. He collapsed into the arms of first his mother – and God have mercy about _that_ \- and then those of his wife.

The same way as Darcy had fooled them –him- into believing her to be an innocent young woman who had never seen the cruelty the world had to offer.

But she didn’t, did she? She had tased Thor moments within their first meeting, harassed SHIELD and its agents for years defending Doctor Foster, not to mention keeping Foster alive and organized. This was the woman who led and coordinated actions on the ground during the Dark Elf invasion of London, with absolutely no help from either SHIELD or local authorities, while Foster and Thor had been away to get the Aether out the Doctor.

In the past few years did Darcy not come into the Avenger fold and weave them all within her protection? She fed them all, gave gifts, allowed Natasha and Clint to hover and bristle about her without any complaint when they came off of missions. She was a hug if you needed one, a quiet presence nearby if you couldn’t stand human touch at the moment.

Now.

Now she was a princess.

An almost-goddess.

An individual with quite frankly some of the most terrifying abilities he had ever witnessed. He didn’t think he could have had the faith to allow her to pull his – what, his soul? Life thread?

Well, the whatever it was that she grabbed out of Rumlow’s body, there was no way he would ever have the faith and trust for that.

Would he have?

He didn’t know.

And yet, these two remarkable individuals had found each other and could share more than just their secrets.

No, he decided, nothing he or Bucky could have ever hoped to have with her would have ended well.

She would have never been able to be herself with them.

Darcy had let them all know multiple times over the past couple days that she was happy and that was all he cared about.

He felt an inner peace settle in his soul at his own admission.

Another glance at the Soldier, who barely perceptibly nodded, told him that he too, had come to the same conclusion.

A completely random thought occurred to him.

“One of my brothers ...”

Brock had mentioned in passing that he had more than one brother, which meant that the warning he had dreamed off … most likely meant _one_ of them.

At least he hoped so.

Glancing at the happy pair in front of him he hoped that his gut instinct was right and that this son of the war god could be trusted.

Steve almost flinched when small, dainty fingers danced down Brock's back and ripped through the dark fabric of his shirt as if it were nothing, leaving long bleeding cuts on the muscular flesh underneath. Cuts that healed over almost instantaneously, something that not even his own serum could accomplish. The only reminder that they had been there at all was the shredded shirt and the small trail of blood down the other man's back, who didn't appear to mind at all as he took his bride away.

Brock Rumlow was a Demigod.

How about that?

If there was a God, and a benevolent one at that, he hoped to that Divine presence that Rumlow wasn’t the one they had to worry about.

For the first time in his life, Steve knew without a shadow of a doubt that if it came down to it, former STRIKE Commander Brock Rumlow wasn’t the only one he would have to worry about.

Darcy Lewis Rumlow came with him; Steve had no intention of having anyone grab his soul or life thread, thank you very much.

And Darcy Lewis Rumlow would have no problems taking him out and dragging him down to Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the hugs and love for [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)
> 
> LittleMrsCookies: My lovelies! I'm struggling with my writing muse and my stomach growing larger and larger by the day.  
> The baby kicks a lot during the night which keeps me up a lot.  
> I'm pretty sure you noticed the updates taking longer and I apologize for that. My mind is all like "BABY!!!"


	38. Rebirth

“What a pity,” the gravelly rasp rumbled while Ares brushed a finger against the slit throat of a now lifeless pretty blonde spread upon the altar, coating his hand in the viscous liquid. “She could have been of use.”

Blood was still gushing out of the ritual incision expertly inflicted for exactly that purpose with the body arranged in such a way as to assure the blood would keep flowing even as the heart beat it’s last. The war god almost seemed to pout as he removed his hand from the gaping wound to suckle at the collected substance, humming as he tasted the unusual gold-hued blood.

“A daughter of Zeus, as well, my my,” he bemoaned, savoring the divine flavor of a bloodline he knew all-too-well. “Just more proof of my father’s massive failure at fidelity. My lovely sister; we could have had so much _fun_ together.”

His laughter was chilling in the echoing confines of the underground temple of the Hydra base they were in.

“She has served her usefulness,” his demi-mortal son tersely responded coldly. “We are closer to understanding the serum and it’s affects on our kind.”

Ares tossed a look over his shoulder at his progeny and arched a doubtful brow, swiping another finger into the still dripping blood before goading on a disbelieving laugh, “Truly, Johann? The last time you _thought_ you had it all figured out you tested in on your brother Circe’s son and he didn't notice any change in his powers. Obviously, you lack an ingredient or the particular genius to overcome this hurdle.”

“A mistake,” Johann Schmidt admitted stiffly, posture impeccably upright; loathing confessing or showing any kind of weakness.

It was not wise to show the wolf a wound to exploit. Particularly not one who was such an eternally hungry beast that was his sire.

“I've since acquired just such a suitable ingredient, Sire. You have tasted the results in her blood.” The Red Skull informed his father. “Tell me, did she not taste more pleasing and divine than a demi-goddess should?” he bowed his head to hide the smug grin. “The challenge is in finding the delicate line between being powerful enough to challenge a god and weak enough not to fall under the Spell which binds all gods and their offspring.”

His father wordlessly studied him for long moments before he bared his teeth in a terrifying grin.

“Hmm,” Ares mused in acknowledgment. “A partial success then although … I advise you to be careful son,” he all but purred. “I know of your desire for revenge against the good Captain. Should you use the Serum again and become useless to me ...”

Ares didn't have to finish his sentence, only shrugged and grinned his maniacal, blood stained fangs at him before continuing.

“I've pulled you away from the grip of the Tesseract; torn you out of your pathetically embarrassing predicament when you almost got caught by a band of mortals.”

Back turned against his child, he appeared to pay no attention to the increasing agitation of his current child.

“Was I wrong to do so…son? Are you truly a son of War? Or should I have left you to your eternal damnation, to linger on how you became such a failure?”

Johann nodded stiffly, standing taller. “It won't happen again!”

“Make sure it doesn't.”

With a last burning red glare his father turned and disappeared into a burst of flaming light.

Johann Schmidt, the demigod known as Red Skull, gritted his teeth at the empty summoning chamber. One last snarl of rage releasing before turning briskly to leave the underground temple, the still bleeding corpse seemingly forgotten.

Dainty drops of metallic, almost copper looking blood, dripped to the stone floor.

_Drip_

_Drip_

_Drip_

Another drop fell to the floor before suddenly morphing into a small flash of blue electricity. The spark was shaped like wings and it danced across the stone floor before taking flight like a hesitant bird, struggling to gain height.

Bony fingers reached out and gently caught it, allowing the fluttery spectral wings to perch within a large skeletal palm before it fluttered further up along a dark robed arm to playfully frolic across a hooded head.

_It's not your time._

Words, felt but not spoken, echoed around the chamber.

The tall cloaked figure seemed to be the origin of the words; face and gaze unseen were focused on the wings and not on the ghostly form of the sacrificed woman.

With a small gesture of a bony hand toward the spark, the wings took flight while the cloaked figure went to pick up the ghostly soul of the blond woman.

~~~~

The slightest dipping of weight on the bed had head and body already responding to the intrusion before his eyes even slid open, Hades was on the move. Power that was always at ready hummed through his veins, surging forward to hit him as no caffeine or nicotine would ever do, ready to be unleashed yet held in check.

Hades, King of the Underworld and God of the Dead would have noticed his wife's presence even if he were blind and deaf from old age. It wouldn't have mattered how deep asleep he was.

Her unique light, her aura, her very soul called out to him like nothing else in all of the worlds and it would forever continue to do so, despite his current disgruntlement of her meddling in their daughter's fate.

“Kore,” he rumbled her truest name of old, abs bunching in an impressive display as he sat up in bed, unheeding of the sheet revealing his nearly nude figure under the covers.

“Hades,” the single word was filled with so much sadness and longing, his heart twinged a moment and he cocked his head as he brought one leg up to support him as he leaned his weight upon the other curved under him in a modified crouch. Hades was warrior born even if history had forgotten all but his current station.

A King may only bow to his Queen, but even Queen’s should use caution in approaching her King.

“Please don't send me away again,” Persephone's begging plea had him sigh, even as he silently opened his arms for her after a long moment of contemplation. No word was uttered.

Still seated on his bed, his beloved wife practically leapt into his arms and just held him desperately close. Despite his lingering anger at her actions he still pulled her familiarly pliant curves against the sharp planes of his heat, the arm not banded about her waist tunneling his fingers through her hair in a soothing manner.

“Persephone, my Queen, my love, my treasure.” he rumbled at her in a sleep-drenched tone. “What brings you here, hmm? Your mother will not be pleased at your absence during her ordained time.”

“You make it sound as if I am part of one of the mortal’s pathetic custody agreements,” she grumbled as his wife scooted closer and sat herself between his legs. Her humor was short lived, breath hitching as she blinked tear-stained doe brown eyes up at him.

The green dress she was wearing appeared to be made out of hundreds of little leaves and flowers in various shades and tones.

“I need your help my King Husband,” she admitted. Persephone's tears were falling freely now. “I have made a _horrible_ mistake.”

“Another one?”

“Hades, please.”

There was a tense moment of silence where Hades just stared down at his wife before he closed his eyes with a tired sigh.

“Just _what._ _Were_. you _thinking_?”

The words were clipped and to most would seem cold and calloused, the epitome of royal disgruntlement and snobbery. To his wife however; his tone was ever patient but the overt question suggested that he was willing to listen.

Ashamed, Persephone lowered her gaze, and nuzzled against his chest, inhaling his unique scent. She finally settled with ear against his chest, trying to soothe herself listening to the familiar beat of his heart. It’s slightly rapid rhythm told her Hades was not as unaffected as he seemed and it gave her hope it was in a good way.

“The Fates called me during my last stay with mother,” she admitted to him softly and tried not to take it personally when Hades’s body went rigid beneath her touch. “They informed me that Darcy would find True Love with a demigod born of the Bloodthirsty War.”

“I thought, my Queen, we agreed we were not keeping secrets anymore?”

The hurt, disappointment, and betrayal in the soft question made the Queen flinch. It had been eons since that particular tone had been directed her way; she found she still did not care for it.

“They gave me a warning. Darcy's powers are returning!”

Hades went still once more and his heart skipped a beat. Dread and excitement warred for dominance within, skin prickling as if Fate were caressing him with their greedy talons.

Dread was winning.

“However, with their return she would only be safe from our High King’s wrath if she was with the Warrior of Crossed Bones.” Persephone shook her head, the dark tendrils their daughter inherited swaying with the motion. “Whom else was I supposed to think of other than Circe’s Crossbones?” his wife demanded before once again vehemently shaking her head. “I made sure of course. I talked to Eros; he affirmed that he had shot his demigod brother with a True Loves Arrow.”

Hades blinked at this new knowledge but his wife broke off with a renewed sob as she continued.

“But Darcy,” she almost laughed in between her sobs. “Of _course_ our Darcy didn't make it easy for him to charm her and time was running out. I threw together a plan to force _both_ of them into action, to admit to their love. I requested Loki's help to ensure everything would run smoothly … and then the bastard son of a bastard’s whore, he used a Favor! _Why_ did _he_ have a _Favor?!_ ”

Hades imitated one of his daughter’s snorts at Persephone’s indignation and fought the urge to indulge in something so plebian as rolling his eyes.

“Hush love,” Hades absently tried to appease her, his mind whirling as he thought on his observations of his ill-gotten son. “Not all is like it seemed.”

“Oh, really?!” Persephone snarled in a sudden fit of maternal anger. “We both saw what happened on Olympus!” she half whispered and half screeched in anger. “How can I forgive myself for forcing our daughter into that, that bastard’s, that monsters arm!” she sobbed. “I shouldn't have listened to the Fates or Eros!”

“Persephone,” Hades sighed at his wife’s theatrical hysterics, fingers tightening in the luscious liquid milk chocolate locks.

~~~

A slight huff of air escaped her as her back met the firm surface of the wall, a grin threatening to break jaw, and her legs lifted of their own accord to anchor herself more securely around a lean waist.

“Brock,” Darcy giggled against his mouth as his strong arms did double-duty caging and supporting her against the elevator wall and her husband settled his weight more firmly against her front. “We can't just leave.”

Her fingers dug into his upper back and shoulders, and she may or may not have moaned when he targeted that particular spot behind her ear. His mouth upon her body teased her mercilessly as his restlessly roaming hands on her ass squeezed playfully.

“We just did,” he rumbled against her before his voice became softer. “Please Darcy,” he pushed his nose into her hair and just inhaled her scent. “Let me just hold you for a while,” hips lazily rutting into her own. There was something almost gentle and tender despite the restrained power and violence she knew he was capable of.

Darcy's heart melted at his plea.

“Of course,” she agreed, pressing her lips against his in a barely there kiss, moving one arm around his neck while the other stroked through his hair before she repeated. “Of course Brock, my husband, my love.”

“We should talk,” he insisted after a while, eyes opening and reluctantly pulling back to look at her as he let her slide to the floor gently. His now sienna-colored eyes were swirling both with emotions and shades of red.

"What about?" her brows furrowed. Nothing good ever came out of the phrase, “We should talk.”

“About the Favor. About the Law. And … it's affect on you.”

His fingers moved to cup her cheek before he let them trail down her neck, one pale shoulder having peeked out from underneath the off shoulder sweater while the other was covered.

“I don't want to hurt you,” he repeated, his thumb stroking across her pale neck. “I fear I've hurt you, however unintentionally.”

Darcy gently pried his seeking fingers from her neck and placed them against her cheek once more, both of her smaller hands holding his while she nuzzled into it.

“Brock,” she hummed softly, almost overcome by emotions, he was so incredibly sweet and tender with her.

“You never physically harmed me … beside that one time you grabbed my wrist on Olympus,” she confessed softly. “And I agreed to that farce.”

There was no way not to notice him flinch at the reminder but that had been painful and had shown just how controlled he was every other time he touched her.

She was pretty sure he could break her bones like they were toothpicks; he was a lot like his father in that regard, even without noticing or wanting it.

Briefly her gaze flickered to his life threat, had the gold always been that prominent?

“I did not say that to hurt you Brock,” she stroked his forearm in a soft squeeze. “I said it so that you would understand that _nothing, absolute nothing_ we did was _ever_ against my will.”

“Except me using my Favor to marry you,” Brock pulled her against his chest and just held her for what felt like forever. Both of them stayed silent while they just relaxed into each other's company.

“I love you,” he told her again. “So. Fucking. Much.”

“I know,” she smiled up at him and winked, blue eyes shining with mirth as she maneuvered out of his hold and around him to tug on his hand lightly. “Come on, Jarvis has been waiting to let us out long enough,” she giggled as the doors slide open on their floor. “Thank you Jarvis.”

Jarvis’ voice sounded amused for an A.I. “My pleasure, princess.”

But he wasn't was he? Jarvis wasn't just an A.I. at all. Jarvis somehow had a soul; he was the ghost in the machine, the one charged to monitor and defend an entire building, multiple buildings and residences at that.

A specter of whom was extremely fond of Darcy, his wife. Brock shook that thought away as he allowed Darcy to pull him along to his – their – apartment.

“Come on,” she urged him with a wicked smile as she winked at him naughtily over her shoulder. “You can lie down on the bed and tell me all about your worries while I show you my socks.”

“Darcy,” the sound that left his throat almost resembled a pained whine. “Please don't tease me like that. I want you to take this serious. I need to be sure that the Favor is not forcing you to do … _things_ ,” he shook his head. “I read the Law,” he broke off and shook his head. “I don't want a piece of property. I want a wife, an equal. I want you to be able to tell me your desires, to tell me _no_ when you want it.”

“Oh Brock,” Darcy swallowed down the tears threatening to spill once more. “Hush,” she told him, moving closer again to press a finger against his lips. “I'm taking this serious. We can talk. I promise.” her eyes fluttered up to his. “But until then … if you don't order me, I'm not obligated to do _things_ , besides,” she shrugged cutely. “I told you I can ignore most of it,” her lips quirked and her eyes sparkled. “So how about you lie down and just let me show you how much I'm enjoying these _things_ , how much I _love_ you, truly.”

~~~

Jack still wasn't too sure how he should feel about _everything_ , so he tried to focus on work mostly. With a sigh he checked everything, _again_.

When his work phone buzzed he eagerly lifted it to his ear after checking the caller ID briefly. “Rollins, what can I do for you Klein?”

“Hello,” came the cheerful greeting of the tech guy. “I got … uhh,” for a moment he trailed off and Jack wondered what this was about. He and Klein got along pretty well, especially after they had a drink and some team-bonding time at a bar after the attack in which Brock and Darcy disappeared.

“Yeah?” Jack prompted.

“Parcels,” Klein almost squeaked. “You got parcels mate, like a lot.”

“Shit,” Jack cursed, dragging a hand over his face and fearing the worst. “Shoes?”

There was a soft strangled sound on the line. “I don't think so,” the sound of a clicking keyboard could be heard. “There are some shoes, but I think … wait, that is a designer brand for men's fashion. Like, Stark level of designer …are you being promoted?”

Jack could practically hear the laughter in Klein's voice. “You got a secret admirer or a sugar daddy, Rollins?”

“Fuck you sideways Klein,” Jack grumped into the phone and he heard the small tech guy snort. “I'll better get down to the lobby huh?”

Cameron Klein was now openly laughing, thankfully rather silent. “That would be a good idea. Lobby security doesn't know what to do with all of it and just now a tailor came in and insists that he was called here to take your measurements.”

“Shit,” Jack groaned.

“Aww come on,” Cameron laughed softly. “It's not so bad, did you drunk order?”

“I wish!”

Cameron continued to laugh softly before his mood switched rather suddenly. “Hey look, my coworker just left. I need to talk to you privately as soon as possible.” he informed him clearly nervous. “I have a security issue.”

~~~

They were cuddling in bed, still mostly dressed, enjoying each other's company after finally hashing out Brock's fears and questions about the Favor.

Darcy was wrapped up at his side, lazily propped up on one arm. She moved her fingers beneath his shirt and over his abs with a soft smile on her face she leaned down to push a kiss on his now exposed stomach.

“Darcy,” he peered down at her while she trailed kisses up his stomach and chest.

“Hmm?” she hummed teasingly, moving to straddle his hips. “I thought since we've cleared all misunderstanding that this was our official honeymoon now?”

Moving one arm to grip her waist Brock used the other to sit up in one fluid move. Darcy was still straddling him, looking nonplussed at his action; one hand had a firm grip on his shirt while the other was on his shoulder to steady herself. He bends down to kiss her softly, brushing his lips against hers before he allowed himself to suckle at her lush bottom lip for a brief moment.

She whined in disappointment when he pulled back and grabbed her hips, moving them to the edge of the bed he sat her down and slipped of the bed to kneel between her legs. Her in turquoise sock clad feet at either side and the skirt ridden up enough to reveal pale flesh and underwear the same color as the socks.

Brock allowed his gaze to linger for a brief moment before he took a hold of her hands which were on his shoulders.

“Brock,” she blinked at him confused. “What?”

_What was he doing?_

Brock grasped her hands in his own in an almost feather light touch before he moved his gaze from her hands up into her face.

“Darcy,” he began, licking his lips his fingers moved to play with the ring on her own finger and her eyes widened, her breath hitched and her heart felt like it wanted to burst free from her chest all of sudden.

“Gaia, Darcy,” he let out a huff of air. “I should probably do this in a more romantic way but ...” he trailed off for a moment and shook his head. “You deserve so much better than what has transpired between us and I swear I'll make it up to you. Darcy,” his eyes flickered between his usual brown and the red of his powers. “Marry me?” he continued. “Marry me, for real this time. No Favor, no cursed laws, only this same old ring and this same old groom.”

He looked like he would continue but Darcy had already thrown herself at him. “Brock, of course!” she almost shrieked. “I will,” she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck. “Of course I will marry you.”

“I'm the luckiest bastard alive,” he grinned at her.

“Can't argue with that,” she laughed. “You're very lucky I love you.”

“Hmm,” he agreed with a hum. “I am, ain't I?”

She smiled at him, her entire face lit up with happiness at their teasing banter.

For a brief moment everything was perfect.

And then there was the tiniest flash of light.

Just a small spark of white, blue and some purple as well as electricity in the air, the soft buzzing and humming unmistakable.

A brief spark that lightened up the entire room for the fraction of a second before it was gone.

For an equal short fraction of a second Darcy's face contorted in obvious pain before she went completely slack in his arms.

“Darcy?” he felt and heard the single word, her name, leave his mouth despite knowing deep in his heart that she couldn't hear him. “Darcy!” this one was filled with more panic as he lifted her small frame into his arms and rose. “Jarvis!”

“Despite her unconsciousness, the princess vitals are steady,” the A.I. Immediately supplied. “My scanners cannot pick up the reason for her fainting.” he sounded regretful and worried. “I've taken the liberty to inform Sir, your mother and the Avengers of the situation.”

“Darcy,” Brock cradled her against himself before gently laying her down on the bed, moving a hand to cup her cheek.

His eyes flickered down to her exposed neck, where some of his marks where still clearly visible, but he had to blink a few times before he realized that they were fading rapidly. The bright red and almost purple color disappeared in the matter of seconds and left only pale smooth skin behind.

Skin that shone with a soft pale golden light that seemed more prominent all of sudden.

“Shit,” Brock cursed. “Shit,” he repeated. “Jarvis, please get my mother in here and the Asgardians. No mortals. I don't think its safe.” he half snarled and half ordered. “Shit, fuck, what did I do?!”

Cupping her cheek once more he stared down at her. “What did I do?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs for the bestest Cowriter in the whole world (maybe universe!) [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay) you don't know how much I appreciate your help!


	39. Blood and Soul

“Agent Rollins,” Jarvis’s voice halted the music of the elevator - which until that point had been happily playing 'Secret Agent Man'- Stark’s version of a joke that was wearing thin a few months later.

“Yes Jarvis?” Jack immediately straightened his posture to a more alert stance, mind snapping to current reality instead of replaying and overanalyzing the weird conversation with Klein.

“I believe it to be in your best interest that I inform you that Monsieur Adrian, the tailor who was sent by His Majesty isn't… human,” the A.I., or rather ghost, warned ever polite and far more delicately than an A.I. Ghost should ever be. “Since you now possess the ability to see through glamours due to Commander Rumlow’s interference, it would be beneficial for all parties you continued to act as if you would when interacting with a mortal. Many Olympian and Other beings who are attempting to ‘pass’ as ordinary humans would not be as lenient as His Majesty and the Princess and her consort at an unbound Mortal being able to see what they do not wish to be known.”

For a brief moment Jack couldn't do more than let his thoughts come to a stuttering halt.

_Unbound mortal?_

_Ordinaries?_

“Not… human?” he repeated slowly, voice was far squeakier than he intended and he cleared his throat while forcing himself to table this new intel until later. “What exactly can I expect?”

“Visually speaking, Monsieur Adrian physically appears human. Although with your new Glamour Sight, you will probably pick up on the fact that he has…a few more pairs of eyes,” Jarvis paused for a short moment. “His Majesty, the Lord of the Underworld sends him with the finest praise. His craft is impeccable, not to mention exclusive and in high demand; Monsieur is able to provide a quality of material and craftsmanship that no Mortal can compare to even compete with. He is of Arachne's bloodline and a very good silk-weaver.”

“Arachne? As in… _spider_?” Jack gaped at the ceiling camera, eyes going wide. “Are you telling me Darcy's dad, the King of the Underworld, sent me some Greek Monster Spider to take my measurements?”

When the hell did his life become an episode of _Grimm_?

~~~

“What did you do this time?!”

Brock didn't need to turn to know his mother was as furious as she sounded, if the tone of her voice hadn't suggested it, the bedroom door slamming into the wall so hard it bounced back and fell shut might have been a hint of her mood.

Gone was the luxe dress and killer stilettos of a few hours ago; in its place, Circe had obviously chosen comfort and freedom of movement with the form fitting blue denim trousers, low heeled knee high leather boots, and a black cotton long sleeve v-neck shirt who’s sleeves were held in place by leather cuff bracers. Her slicked back hair now sported several braids at the crown and was pulled back in a messy ponytail.

“I don't know,” he mumbled, his gaze flickering from his still unconscious wife to meet his mother's.

“I think,” he began louder as Circe stalked closer and practically pushed him out of the way to flutter hands across Darcy's face in motherly concern, magic stirring the currents of the air, tasting the residual magicks like some huge, invisible snake.

“I think she's… I think she’s becoming a… a, uh, a goddess again,” he confessed the outlandish thought that had taken root in the time it had taken him alerting JARVIS and calling for his mother’s assistance and her arrival just a few moments ago.

Circe snapped her head back to him at that admission so hard he heard her neck crack, briefly wide-eyed before her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed as she pursed her lips.

“Something that _shouldn’t_ be likely,” she muttered, eyes becoming distant as she looked inwardly or outwardly at something, some magic he couldn’t see. “But… it doesn’t mean it’s _impossible._ ”

She began with Darcy; eyes shifting as Power began to gather and heeded her call, her hands gently grazed against soft skin as the ancient language of her people tumbled about and entwined in the air, before her gaze fell upon him suddenly sharp and deep, feeling like a weight on his person.

A lifetime of experience and he knew she was using magic on or around him yet this time around it felt different. It was almost like being insulated but still able to feel some sort of pressure, and really, should he be able to feel whatever it was she was doing? Never in his fifty-five years of walking this Realm had he been able to sense to such a degree the magic his mother danced in. He swore he saw glimmers of … something … swirling and weaving about. Like the shadows and eye confetti aural bursts that sometimes teased someone when they were on missions or extremely tired and one’s vision started to do strange and funky things.

His mother's nostrils flared, mouth parting slightly while she shuddered and blinked away whatever magic gaze she had used to meet his eyes.

“It's not only her,” the Sorceress finally broke the silence.

“What?”

Mother and son stared at one another for what seemed like an impossibly long heartbeat.

“What are you saying, Ma? Are you saying …Darcy’s got her divininty back and I’m…no longer a demi-god?”

Blinking, Brock could hear the loud booming footsteps of Thor entering the room behind them without needing to turn.

“Your lady mother appears to be correct,” the Asgardian prince announced but his voice held a softer note than usual.

Instinct had Brock already moving – as if he could sense the shifting of the air itself – moments before a heavy hand came down to clasp his shoulders and Brock shifted his stance to face the Norse deity, somehow unwilling to leave his back vulnerable.

“Say that again?”

Brock’s very blood seemed to writhe, and his fangs were pressing against his gums before he told himself that Thor was not the threat – _for now_.

 _Gaia_ , was the room getting hotter?

“It seems that you have shared and agreed to an ancient rite connecting your soul with that of the Princess,” Thor's eyes were an almost white for a brief second and when they refocused, the elder God gave a wry, knowing quirk of his lips as he boldly met Brock’s gaze, unflinching.

_In my youth I courted war._

Thor wasn’t just a pretty face or the bumbling but well-meaning alien powerhouse he often let the masses believe him to be, Brock recalled and something _hot_ and _Other_ rumbled and surged in his veins with something akin to anticipation.

The cracking of the bones in his now fisted hands sounded far too loud for his ears and he hissed, looking down in disbelief at the rivulets of blood _his claws_ had branded into his palms.

“No doubt,” Circe was quick to break the resurging tension, speaking up once more as Jane made her appearance, shuffling in the doorway nervously. “You gave more than _just_ the healing of a cut or even some good old-fashioned reunion sex,” his mother looked thoughtful for a moment, glancing down at Darcy for a moment before nailing her son with _Look_.

“And therein lies one of those ‘pesky’ ramifications of blood sharing. No, I’m not going to lecture, Brock, don’t even get ruffled, it is what it is. However, I think in this instance, it would be wise if you shared an acceptable amount, this particular side-effect should be overcome shortly.”

Circe turned her gaze then to Thor while her hands still stroked through Darcy's hair in motherly affection.

“Unless you know something in particular?” she questioned, cocking a brow in time with her head tilting, ponytail slithering over her should. “I was never allowed to study in depth the intricacies of souls or the soul joining on this level as it is normally reserved for the Fates...or the high level Underworld deities. Of which Darcy was and was born from.”

“Nay,” Thor shook his head, regretful. “I'm a fertility god among other things and have consecrated many marriages,” he turned his now once again sky blue eyes to Darcy. “I can See that the marriage has indeed been accepted in word and deed, heart and soul.”

His head cocked to one side and he spoke to Brock despite the fact that his gaze never wavered from Darcy.

“By the both of you.”

“What are you saying?” Brock questioned, still staring at his palms, the skin smooth and the blood the only hint that anything happened. “That _my_ blood broke her … _mortality…_ on _accident_?!”

“A part of it … perhaps,” his mother mused. Her eyes tracked the small creeks of blood in his palms and frowned.

“But not all,” Jane threw in all of sudden and joining the conversation from the safety of Thor’s shoulder, giving Brock a wary stare but not coming closer despite the almost vibrating need to be at Darcy’s side.

“When her powers were ripped from her they couldn't actually destroy them; they had to actually bind them to something, some object.” she informed them. “You can't take away someone's power permanently without binding it somewhere … if she is able to heal parts of it that means that whatever it was, it was destroyed.”

“Wait, but,” Brock broke off shaking his head, pinning the shorter woman with a penetrating stare trying to understand. “ _How_?”

“Well I can't answer you the _how_ exactly,” Jane looked at him frowning, gnawing at the inside of her cheek for a moment, considering. “But it's hard to kill a god, or even to render them mortal. Why do you think they split Kronos into pieces and threw those into Tartarus, bound to the very Earth and separated for all eternity? They couldn't kill him _or_ the other Titans and ... Darcy. Well, they can't kill her or her powers either. Her powers are there, with or without her.”

“What’s to stop someone from grabbing this object and using it?”

“Not a good idea. Even if someone were able to grab them, that person would literally go insane, and it’s not just because of _what_ Darcy is the Goddess of. Someone would need to take her place, as the Goddess of Madness and Nightmares, but she’s not dead or vanquished. So her ‘spot’ that she’s fulfilling is still full so no else _can_ do what she was literally _born_ to be. The balance would be broken. _That's_ also the reason that there are so few actual gods born.”

“Aye,” Thor agreed, nodding his head. “Asgard houses many beings and creatures of vast magical ability and potential, but very few are actually born as what you consider gods,” he nodded his head in agreement with Jane's statement. “When the need for a new god arises one will be born, typically from the ashes of the previous one; On Asgard we simply have children of our kind that aren't assigned roles yet still hold the capacity should the need arise. A reason why pedigrees and blood lines are so vital to my people; some roles _must_ be filled … my own mother would know more about this. She is not of Asgard, and was raised by some of the most powerful witches in the Nine Realms as well as being a fierce warrior in her own right before her union with my father.”

“That is all very interesting but how is that going to help her?” Brock gestured at his love's unconscious body with clear desperation, so much so that his mother's gaze softened.

“She'll be fine,” Circe hummed. “All she needs is your presence and maybe a few more drops of your blood to help her along. Her body is … reacclimating. She didn’t lose just her powers, my son, she had been de-aged and her essence impregnated into a mortal woman to be reborn. Just as her mother’s firstborn and her father’s true namesake had been.”

With those words she rose to her feet in a fluid movement reminiscent of a choreographed dance and approached him slowly.

“Go on,” she instructed, carefully grasping his wrists so as not to touch the potent blood who’s magic sang to her, and tugging him toward his wife. “Let your wife suckle on this blood, and then wrap her in your aura and hide her as best as you can.”

A smooth wave of her hand he felt his wards, both mental and those physically around his apartment, begin to strengthen.

“Wrap her in my aura?”

Circe sighed and rolled her eyes.

“You know that thing you do already but just don’t realize it? Honestly ….” Circe clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Fortunately, I have been productive these past few hours and the material I need to ward are just about finished, if not already. When I get back to my rooms and gather the ingredients, I'll begin warding the Tower immediately.”

~~~

Easing to a stop and with a smooth hiss of hydraulics, the doors opened to reveal the Lobby Ground Level and Jack took a step out of the contraption with a brisk, confident swagger he didn’t truly feel.

_Fake it until you make it, soldier._

Face smoothed into his ‘Agent’ impassiveness, his head was on swivel as he immediately began to take in his surroundings and the people entering and exiting or awaiting whatever business they had at Stark Industries Avengers Tower.

“Ah, there you are! The image I was given doesn’t do you justice.”

The crisp lilt of French flavored English caught Jack's attention, and was instantly drawn to an attractive tall man smartly dressed in a dark blue and very expensive looking suit, perfectly tailored to his proportions. The man was tall - as tall as Jack himself if not set more on leaner lines - and true to JARVIS’s words the slender man indeed bore a humanoid face at first glance.

The second glance revealed that he had in fact _four_ pairs of eyes, the crisp hazel of them all beautifully accented by the sharp maroon of his buttoned up shirt and the tasteful black kohl lining his eyes. A fall of blond curls – cropped short on the sides but longer on top - refused to be tamed despite the best effort of the gel or mousse obviously woven within.

It –He? They?- wasn't the horrid beast one might expect to be honest.

Just really strange to see, as if he were seeing double, and Jack had to blink a few times before he _willed_ himself to see only the …normal…amount of eyes.

To his surprise the dual, almost dizzying effect of the multiple eye pairs ceased and he was staring at a perfectly … human … looking face.

The male on the other hand came closer swiftly and pulled a measuring tape from around his shoulders, bypassing Jack’s proffered handshake and using the appendage instead to begin measuring from his wrist to shoulder.

“Ah yes,” he hummed, not seeming to notice Jack’s surprise. “I see now why His Majesty sent for me,” his weirdly articulating hands fluttered around while he moved around Jack studying him and it went against all of Jack’s training and instinct not to move with him, uncomfortable with having an unknown literally at his back. “Gods you have a nice ass. I can work with that.”

And no, Jack clearly hadn't imagined the soft slap to his behind or the admiration clearly in his tone.

“Umm, Monsieur?” never in his entire life had he been this lost for words. “How about we go upstairs?” he suggested, trying to get this _not human_ away from the normal work staff.

“Excellent,” a long hand reached out and was offered for a handshake and a beaming smile. “I'm Monsieur Adrian, but you may call me Adrian.”

Bemused – was this…man…flirting with him? - Jack shook his hand on autopilot and somehow the simple gesture relaxed him a little, allowing him to become grounded.

“Lieutenant Commander Jack Rollins, Second of Security for the Stark Industries Avengers Tower. You can call me Jack.”

“Bonjour, _Jack._ Shall we take along some of the parcels? I do assume they are for you? I recognize His Majesty’s Royal Seal,” Adrian questioned while twirling a little, jacket flaring – and when had the jacket become unbuttoned? - whilst gesturing towards a pile of parcels where one of the lobby guards stood near and looked at him with exasperation.

Clearly, Officer Cheney was hoping Jack would tell them what to do with the truly impressive amount of packages.

The man in question moved with a fluidity and dexterity that even had he not been in the know, just was not the way a human would move to Jack’s expert eyes as he hummed.

“There are safety protocols in place that prohibit that,” Jack denied as he explained, shaking his head and ignoring the indignant huff of his guest. “I was not expecting these and they have to be checked.”

“Ah, worry not.” with swift feet Adrian approached the pile and picked up a few of the parcels. “I'm sure His Majesty sent a delightful selection per usual. Sadly, I was called on such a short notice I haven't managed to create some drafts yet, to my apologies. I do so like to be prepared for my client, but I do have a delightful assortment of fabrics I would like to show you.”

Turning towards the lobby guard, Jack instructed them to proceed as normal to inspect the parcels before they were delivered to his apartment. Which meant they would be scanned and checked for any kind of explosive or otherwise harmful content before one of the bots would deliver them.

“I must ask you to leave those parcels here, Adrian” Jack reminded the Royal sent tailor once more, who pursed his lips in displeasure, and reluctantly released his hold on the chosen packages. “For security reasons there are no direct deliveries. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

Better be polite yes? He didn't want to insult the man or the King of the Underworld.

“Oh well,” the male pushed a strand of blond curls, which in fact was snow white on a closer look, behind his ear before he announced. “Let's depart then, yes, _Jack_? I'm excited to have a new _project_.”

~~~

A million thoughts hit Darcy upon her return to wakefulness that immediately made her wish for the sweet oblivion she had just returned from.

First of all … had she seriously fallen unconscious like a damsel in distress during Brock's wedding proposal?!

For Gaia's sake!

She was a damsel, yes, but her lover and husband wanting to make things official was not something she should have been distressed over.

She couldn't even remember why to be honest. One moment she had given her husband her answer to his question, and then there had been a flash of light and an immense pain originating in her very soul but now?

Now, Darcy arched her back as she stretched tenderly, surprised that the expected pain was not present. In fact she felt great, despite a slight, almost unnoticeable cramping along her spine but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle.

Secondly … she had to pee.

Not yet at that uncomfortable, I am going to rupture your bladder on the way to wetting the bed kind of way. But an insistent kind of, hey, it would be a good idea to relieve yourself sometime soon.

The next thing she noted was that Brock's familiar form was snuggled up behind her, halfway burying her underneath his larger frame, with one arm slung across her waist and resting on her boob.

He even squeezed it a little while he snored softly into her neck.

She had to give an affectionate giggle a little at the proprietary grasp; he was her perfect match in every way.

The way he cared about her, her health, her feelings and just about everything he did, his fears about hurting her, it just showed her how much he truly cared despite his gruff and macho behavior.

Figuring she had a little bit longer before her bladder reached critical mass but being so close to him after almost a whole day of being denied the smallest touch, she spread her legs so she could capture and grip one of his legs with both of hers. She began snuggling back into him as she relaxed into his hold and the mattress beneath them; closing her eyes a soft sigh escaped her before her senses picked up something important.

A divine aura.

Instantly tensing at the unfamiliar feeling, her eyes shoot open once more.

Her hands fumbled down to grasp Brock's while she whispered his name, but at the same time it left her mouth she noted that the aura not only wrapped around her, it seemed strangely familiar and her own had entwined about like a wicker basket.

The red shimmer of the pulsating aura was connected with Brock's arm like an after burn in a picture.

With a startled gasp she pushed up and away from him, blinking down at him as her flailing to disconnect her legs from between his woke him up.

With a rumbling purring growl that didn’t do her lady bits any favors – honestly she was having a crisis here, Lady Bits, this was no time to get excited like _that_! - for his part Brock blinked crimson tinged russet eyes open and sat up almost lazily, extending one arm towards her.

“Hey,” he greeted softly his expression full of concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Brock,” she stuttered. “You're … you're a _god_?!”

“What? Babe?” Sleep confused and shaking his head like a massive dog, he reached for her again, and Darcy panicked and flopped her way to the edge of the bed.

“You’re a _god_ now! How, that’s, that can’t be possible. What happened?”

The tangle of the bed sheets and Brock’s own shifting weight kept her from collapsing and flopping to the ground like a fish, and her husband’s hands on her ankle as he removed her sheet binding was welcome even as she scooted across the floor on her hands and knees and stared up at him.

Raised up on forearms that dangled off the edge of the bed, Brock peered over the edge of their bed and raised his brows in askance.

“Sweetheart?” Brock tilted his head wolfishly, the crimson gleam in his eyes curious, and perplexed before morphing into something more mischievous and amused as he became more aware and considered her.

“What?!?” Darcy snarled back at him, panic and embarrassment causing her to snap back. She could _feel_ as her neck and face flushed before the rest of her body followed.

Damn her pale skin.

The dark, husky chuckle her husband issued had Lady Bits sitting up and taking hella notice, as he lowered his stubbled cheek to be propped on one fist, while the other remained dangling, fingers tapping against the side of the bed. His gaze as he stared at her was adoring and he shifted to rest more comfortably on his stomach.

“Comfortable?” he smirked and rumbled indulgently.

“Asshole!” Darcy gave a tiny little shriek as she grabbed one of the decorative pillows she had brought and launched it in his direction.

“Yours,” he singsonged with another richly decadent laugh that seemed to reach inside and caress parts of her that physically should _not be possible_!

Lady Bits heated up once more and Brock paused, the playfully devilish grin on his face freezing for a moment as he inhaled, closing his eyes and humming in appreciation.

Any gentle amusement was gone as the heated, intense gaze caught her when her husband opened his eyes and eagerly, albeit lazily, raked that gaze across the skin that had been revealed in her scramble to get away.

That’s when Darcy realized she was again in one of Brock’s shirts and only his shirt.

Where did her socks and skirt go?

At least she still had underwear, she thought gratefully, swallowing at the look on her husband’s face.

He looked at her like she was a full course meal with appetizer, entrée, main course and dessert all wrapped in one and he was _starving_.

“Come here,” he suggested with a flirty smile, free hand beckoning her toward him, and oh Gaia did she ever.

But no!

 _Focus_!

“Nuh uh,” is what she intelligently responded with instead, pouting and shaking her head in the negative.

“Darcy,” Brock rumbled, catching her gaze and she froze. “Darcy, _carina._ Come. _Here._ ”

Eyes wide and suddenly emboldened by the wave of indignation while strangely being turned on at the command, Darcy narrowed her eyes, refusing to be prey or cower anymore.

Slowly gathering her legs underneath her, she rested her weight on her heels, and stared the Alpha before her down even as her spine straightened and her chin flashed up.

“And I said: _Nuh_. _Uh_.”

Brows arching at her defiance, that look scorched even further and how hot can one man make a look, you know, look?

A hundred and seventy two pounds or seventy eight kilograms of pure, lean predatory muscle shifted; Darcy’s heart began to trip in a quick rhythm as the whisper of skin on satin bed sheets filled the air, and her husband was on the ground in front of the bed, crouched as well and all predatory intent as he considered her, right arm leaning on top of the night stand and doing a fine job of stretching and accenting all the lovely dips and hollows of his muscles and the tattoos.

“Darcy,” he crooned, smooth as silk, and just as tempting as sin. He flexed a tattooed forearm and Darcy swore she almost went cross-eyed in desire.

“Brock,” she eyed those crimson powered eyes, not bothering to mask her own power as her skin began to glow and knew her own sapphire gaze was now the deathly cyan the Underworld feared.

She refused to cower; refused to hide herself from this man to whom she had pledged her body and soul to.

“You want to play, _la dolce_ _metà?_ _You sure about that?”_ he cocked an inquisitive brow and Darcy was overcome with the irrational urge to swipe that condescending smirk off his face.

“Oh, Brock,” she purred back, pleased to see his body twitch and tighten – haha take that she wasn’t the only one affected – in response.

_“You should know: I don’t play. I win.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love and hugs [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> you once again turned a 'normal' chapter into a glorious one.


	40. Ascent

_~*~*~_

“ _Darcy,” he crooned, smooth as silk, and just as tempting as sin. He flexed a tattooed forearm and Darcy swore she almost went cross-eyed in desire._

“ _Brock,” she eyed those crimson powered eyes, not bothering to mask her own power as her skin began to glow and knew her own sapphire gaze was now the deathly cyan the Underworld feared._

_She refused to cower; refused to hide herself from this man to whom she had pledged her body and soul to._

“ _You want to play,_ _la dolce metà? You sure about that?”_ _he cocked an inquisitive brow and Darcy was overcome with the irrational urge to swipe that condescending smirk off his face._

“ _Oh, Brock,” she purred back, pleased to see his body twitch and tighten – ha-ha take that she wasn’t the only one affected – in response._

“ _You should know: I don’t play. I win.”_

~*~*~

“We really need to stop doing that,” Darcy voiced rather breathlessly, sometime later.

Brock's arms were currently wrapped around her, one underneath her knees while the other supported her back as he carried her back to bed. Her own arms were slung around his neck and her fingers moved through his still shower wet hair, she gave a teasing nip to his earlobe to get his attention.

Darcy could have kicked herself for challenging an Alpha type to a dominance battle – although the look on his face when she interrupted a key moment was absolutely priceless and a giggling snort erupted out of her throat and nasal passages as she recalled it.

~*~*~

“ _You play to win, huh?”_

_No one should look that freaking yummy with a hoe-boy smoldering smirk in place and Darcy was faced with just that from her own husband. From the pounding of her heart and the raised hair on her neck and arms, she was two seconds shy of either being pounced or doing the pouncing – thanks Lady Bits – when her unexpected savior hit._

_Crossing her legs left over right and bouncing a little in place on one foot, Darcy bit her lip as something else reminded her of another urgent need down south._

“ _Yup!” she popped the last letter in an overly loud faux-cheery tone of voice that had the newly ascended god of …what would Brock be?- blinking at the sudden turn of mood. “But hold that thought, stud! I have to pee!”_

“ _What?!?”_

_It was almost cute how Darcy could almost see the shrieking gears as his brain almost seemed to hit a brick wall, but she really didn’t wait around._

_She bolted for the bathroom._

_~*~*~_

Temporarily ignoring his wife and her sudden bout of the giggles, Brock prowled from the steamy depths of the bathroom to the bed. With one arm still securely wrapped around her waist and holding her flush against his hip and chest; the other threw the tangled sheets to tumble somewhere near the bathroom door.

Pleased with his little bit of cleaning, he hummed and Darcy shook her head in amusement. Her husband's eyes had returned to their usual russet but there was still a banked heat of desire and want simmering in the depths whenever she met his gaze.

Leaning down he sprawled her out on the bed once more, carefully arranging Darcy down in front of him while languidly nibbling on her jaw and earlobe, slowly eking out a trail of licks and nips, kissing his way to her mouth.

His whole body once again covering hers, separated only by the towels Darcy had insisted upon their exit, touching and rubbing as much skin against skin and staying as connected as possible while he was careful not to lean onto her too much. Their auras twined together, mimicking on the astral plane what their grounded vessels were. Brock’s aura – a mix of slashing crimson and sienna and warm browns and near inky black – was just as greedy for his soul’s twin, gluttonously gripping onto Darcy’s with a firm grasp.

Twisting and twining, looping and through hers and knitting itself through the gaps of hers to secure itself to her like a soft, warm and protective blanket.

  
  


~*~*~

_She shouldn’t have run._

_Rule number one when faced with a predator: Face them down as equals. You turn your back and flee, you admit you are prey._

_Well, Survival Rule, you didn’t take into account the bodily needs of those being roused out of a deep sleep – namely, the endgame of digestion._

_Darcy was smart enough to toss a burst of magic against the door for at least the duration as she tried to pee as fast as she could, not knowing when – not if – she was going to be interrupted._

_And damnit, she wasn’t going to face the new god with a full bladder_

_The sudden thump! against the door and the hastily thrown together ward made her jump on her seat, and she willed herself to relieve faster._

“ _Darcy?!?”_

_Another forceful knock, both physical and metaphysical, resounded like a gong in the suddenly tiny feeling bathroom._

_Now why did he have to go and sound like the Big Bad Wolf and every Harlequin romance lead even while question-shouting her name through a closed door?_

“ _I wasn’t lying when I said I have to pee, Gaia frak it!” Darcy yelled back toward the door, shutting her eyes against the embarrassing ignominy of it all._

_~*~*~_

Muscles.

So. Many. Muscles and warmth and male and _mate_ and just Brock and she was surrounded by all of that and more. Every breath brought the spicy scent of _him_ and it was like she snorted a hit with every lungful.

Oh, it would be _so_ _easy_ to give in once more – and boy, were Lady Bits and His Bits on board with that idea - but there were Serious Issues™ that needed clarification. It was with great reluctance and a prayer for discipline and fortitude that she pushed against the solid velvet steel of his chest gently, but with intent.

“Brock.”

“Hmm?” That was pure, satisfied male noise in response and Darcy cursed the bolt of molten arousal that shot through her core.

“We need to stop doing this,” Darcy repeated on a hiss, forcing the strength of her will into her tone, and she pushed again at his chest, again with no luck. “The sex instead of talking thing,” she clarified. “We _need_ to – _mmmph_!”

Even exasperated as she was, Darcy couldn’t help but melt further into the bed. Brock’s mouth had finally found hers and she was currently dueling with a thick, warm tongue currently wrapped about her own, and dear Gaia he brought it up into his mouth and _suckled_ like a newborn on a teat.

“I know,” he grumbled against her lips after releasing her mouth with a truly naughty wet pop before raising himself in a modified pushup position above her, those banked coals of his eyes peering down at her, amused and aroused and…adoring. “When did you become the rational of the two of us?”

It took a few heartbeats but then she came down from her lust addled high and narrowed her eyes while attempting to scowl but it came off more as a pout.

“When you,” her finger poked against his bare chest and no she would not let herself be distracted by the way he smirked at her, that half fanged smirk that made her want to … no!

_Concentrate, damn it!_

“When you,” she poked once more to get her point across. “Went from a demi into a fully fledged g _od_! A very horny one, too, apparently.”

“Parentage,” his smirk widened and his fangs were fully out once more as he shrugged above her, “Can't be helped.”

He gave a lewd grind of their hips that had her gasping and her legs try to curl about his calves but he resisted through sheer body mass alone.

Her husband had the gall to laugh at her frustrated keen but he switched tactics and showed sudden mercy. Rolling off her and landing on his side, he laid beside her instead, head leaning on one muscular arm that was propped up. The other dipped below, and her eyes tracked as it traced the deep vee of his hip and abdominal muscles, before adjust the knot of the towel that somehow had stayed about his hips.

Fricking towel, Darcy growled.

There was an almost playful look on his face again and this time she didn’t bother to pout but she full on glared and snapped her own fanged jaws in his direction, frustrated on more levels than she cared to admit.

“I apologize,” her lover rumbled, still amused while Darcy pursed her lips and he chuckled at her sullen mien.

“You are right of course,” he admitted into her continued silence, head cocking to the side in a now familiar gesture. “I do not know the _how_ that I…ascended? Yeah, that’s a good word for it -ascended. Mother and Thor wouldn't – or maybe they _couldn’t_ \- explain it fully. Besides,” he scooted closer and she hastily grabbed the edges of her own towel against her chest in a feeble attempt at protection, but he merely huffed out a soft laugh as he nuzzled against her damp hair, “I was far more worried about getting you help when you passed out on me than inquiring about it.”

For a brief moment, he paused, taking a moment to inhale the soft jasmine and pomegranate scent that seemed to surround her.

“They said we joined our souls,” he admitted quietly, his hand reached out to brush across her cheek in tender affection. “Partially due to the blood sharing lately…one of those side effects Mom was worried about. But you brother from another mother seems to think that the act of me asking and you accepting the marriage proposal consecrated our marriage, and coupled with all the sex and power …we're … we’re _one_ now.”

Darcy can see him swallowing nervously and quickly moved to cuddle up to him once more.

“I love you,” she kissed his nose which made him scrunch it but she could see the relief in his face and she nuzzled against the scruff on his face, softer now after a couple days growth. “But we gotta stop with all the drama.”

Sighing softly she ran her hands over his chest and slung one arm around his neck. He really did feel good, even towel separated, as if he was made to fit pieces she didn’t know were incomplete.

“Hmm,” he hummed in agreement, adjusting their positions so he could rest his forehead against hers, teasing her nose with his own. “Right after I tell you that your powers have been trying to return and our soul joining broke the final barrier so you’re a goddess once more.”

~*~*~

_One, two, three, four, five, SIX, seven, eight, PIVOT on nine, about face!_

_One, two, three, four…_

To say Jane was frustrated was an understatement.

She was beyond frustrated.

Within the span of a week her entire life had changed once more.

What was worse was that it wasn't her life per se.

It was Darcy's.

_Her_ Darcy's life.

Jane hated change.

As a scientist, change was always something to be cautious of.

As a Muse, change could be deadly.

A Muse’s entire being, their existence, rested and fed upon the continuous output of inspiration and if a key, integral part –or person- of that inspiration were to …alter?

While some changes – to thinking, to equipment availability, to knowledge and understanding of a concept – may be the precursor to some exciting breakthrough, oftentimes, it is the _constant_ that allows the science to continue to be so profound, so effective….reliable

The constant of Darcy and her love and dedication, yes, even her attention and organization were irrevocably a part of what fueled her, and enabled her to continue onward.

Nothing has been a constant since that attack on the Tower.

Jane felt it to her very marrow and the Muse shuddered, her power flickering and winding about her like a galaxy studded cloud.

She didn’t want to Fade without the Fuel to her Muse.

Coming off a pivot, her eyes briefly strayed from their unfocused path and stole a look at her love.

The powerful, broad shoulders of her Alien Prince were taut with a tension that rarely marked his time here on what his people called Midgard and she knew that she wasn’t the only one being affected by the changes running amok.

Her gaze softened a little and she slowed her frantic pacing up and down their living room.

_Their_ Darcy, she corrected.

Darcy was as much Thor’s as she was Jane’s…or Eric’s, but Eric was human, so the intensity wasn’t as focused or binding.

She had been, ever since that fateful meeting when she nearly spit out her coffee as she realized that the new intern - needed for far more than just assistant work, Muses _needed_ the singular focus that interns innocently handed out for sheer necessity – that the damn new intern wasn’t just an intern with no real discernible benefit for her science.

The new intern was _the_ banished Underworld Princess that even a lower tiered magic user such as her had been made aware of.

Princess Darcy Macaria, known as Melinoë, _the_ freaking Goddess of Ghosts, Nightmares and Madness.

Occasionally, the lost souls who hadn’t passed on or collected yet would gather around the closest Deathly Power source – aka Darcy – and oh, those delicious souls. Once a truce between the Muse and the Former Goddess had been met, and an actual friendship and sisterhood formed, Darcy had no qualms about asking some of those dead souls if they would like to meet Jane.

The Muse had never been fed as much as having a non-stop smorgasbord of the no longer among the living as we know it audience.

Darcy possessed a knack at calling forth the Shades of scientists and artists for dialogue and discussing Jane’s ongoing theories like a super personalized council of geniuses. The older ones flattered and insulted Jane in turn, forcing her to up her game and think on new avenues of research. The younger ones were all awed and almost intimidated to meet with her, Jane Foster, and the once ambiguous Muse had blossomed under the attention.

Not to mention, Darcy totally lived up to the Nightmares and Madness portion of her title and Jane swore her own soul to her heart sister.

That little relationship cheating and research stealing mistake known as the former Doctor Donald Blake had a difficult time of things, as Darcy played Cat’s Cradle with Dr. Blake’s soul dangling between her fingers like taffy and a few of Jane’s newest ghostly groupies – being anchored by the presence of Hades’s daughter – had their fun with Blake’s physical person.

They prepped the man enough that he was easy prey for the Muse he abused, now a Power in her own right.

No one would recognize his corpse as being such after they were done with him. The very Earth swallowed what remained to follow the tattered remains of his wailing soul below.

Jane heaved a sigh, her whole frame shaking with the effort.

It was childish of her so what? But she wished back the days where she and Darcy giggled over Brock's newest flirt attempt. It was all fun and games and to be honest, Jane never took it seriously because she never thought it would come to this.

Never thought the Casanova would wish to settle down with her Darcy and that…that was unacceptable on her part.

She had the raw data she just hadn’t interpreted them correctly.

Oh how many nights had they spend watching 'Chick-Flicks' and giggling about this and that and all of sudden Darcy was just gone!

The further insult was only for her to reemerge as a _married_ woman with a new, powerful family that claimed her as _theirs_.

It wasn’t right!

And totally not fair!

Jane could admit that she was jealous, but more so she was worried. What had happened had been explained and it was as tragic as it was romantic. Still, the heartache and fear her sister had to go through all alone … and she couldn't even be there, neither then or now.

“Calm, my Love.” Thor's hands on her shoulders stopped her pacing which she had once again picked up without realizing it. She hadn’t even realized Thor had abandoned his vigil of the outside world to approach her. “Brock is a worthy partner for our sister.”

“I know,” Jane sighed once more, weary of the situation. “She wouldn't have accepted him if he weren't.”

And that was a hard truth to admit to.

Turning in the circle of the muscular arms she found herself in, she smiled and pushed herself up to kiss Thor's bearded chin.

“I can't help but worry still,” Jane admitted. “It even keeps me from science. From SCIENCE!”

“Tragic,” the Thunder God rumbled like his namesake and Jane felt the boost of his regard to her flagging Power, his own Power like a shot of cocaine laced energy drink, far more potent than any mortal or ghostly feed.

“Maybe I shall find a way to distract you then?” Continuing and head bending down he captured her lips in a heated kiss, moving his hands in a more demanding manner over the small of her back and reveling in the press of her tiny frame to his. “Hmm?”

“Oh,” gasped softly when Thor squeezed her ass, turning to grin at him slyly she questioned with an arch of her brow. “You're totally not competing with Brock are you?”

“Perhaps,” Thor admitted with a rumbled laugh that seemed to echo within the living space and her own heart and head. As it faded, the dangerous heat of lighting lit his gaze and his smile became less adoring and far more sensual. “Or perhaps he just gave me the reminder that I have been remiss in my adorations. That simply cannot continue. Don't tell me you mind, _minn love_?”

~*~*~

Olympus was in chaos.

Hera observed the court below with great satisfaction from her hidden vantage point.

One of the High Queen’s neatly manicured hands came up to touch her hair, the feeling of the short shorn tresses moving over her shoulders and neck a still unfamiliar sensation in a startling but pleasant way to the heavy waves of their former length that once reached the back of her knees. Even the multi-hued shades of honey and wheat and gold and sunlight were hidden under a darker color so far gone from her norm it still startled her to see her reflection.

Gone were her usual golden and expensive gowns, instead she wore a baggy white blouse and a high-waisted tight fitting black skirt that flirted with the tops of her thighs almost indecently.

The high heels she wore were black with bright turquoise peacock feathers attached to the sides, matching the gold-turquoise makeup she wore and the thick bracelet around her wrist.

Down below, the court was buzzing with chatter and gossip, with speculations, hushed whispers and open concern. The typical hushed murmurs of faux reverence were absent, as well as any decorum as Janus level of shrill titters and harsh accusations rose above the din with equally passionate denials. The scent of fear and uncertainty, of terror and even envy wafted with every nervous twitch or forceful sweep of limbs.

She didn't bother or care to hide her amusement as everyone seemed to freak out at the appearance of not only one, but two new gods _somewhere o_ n Gaia’s Namesake.

_New_ gods!

Not only one of them but _two_ at the same time.

And the High Queen’s throne sat empty during an emergency Conclave for the first time in millennia.

The main speculation was that someone had birthed twins.

Much to her dark amusement, the general consensus was that Zeus, her unfaithful husband, had once again chased some skirt and these were the results.

It delighted her to no end that for once it wasn't true.

As the goddess of marriage, it was easy for her to tell what exactly had happened, but she was petty enough not to reveal her knowledge to any of the others, let alone her husband.

Zeus, her damned husband and king and _little brother_ deserved every little speck of panic.

“My….” Iris voice drew her out of her thoughts even as the rainbow goddess words came to a stuttering halt and her footsteps fell silent as she finished with clear surprised astonishment in her voice. “...Queen?”

Turning her attention from the court Hera turned and fixed her gaze on the small red-haired goddess.

“Iris,” she purred, honeyed tones allegedly warm and inviting. “My dear.”

Eyes wide the messenger goddess bowed deeply.

“How can I be of service?”

She fought the tremble of trepidation that was the norm whenever the High Queen asked something of her.

“I'm leaving Olympus,” the High Queen announced as if talking about the current weather. “So I'm releasing you from your oath to serve us.”

Iris’ completely shocked face had her smiling and brushing her manicured fingers across the small goddess elfin face, using two fingers under her chin to gently close that pert mouth that hung open at her news.

“Permanently, you are permanently released from service to myself, or any Royal, including the one I have been in Union with all these eons. You have been loyal to me – and only to me- and I will reward you in this and give some advice: Get out. Leave Olympus while you can. This is not somewhere you want to be in the times that are to follow. Stay safe, Little One.”

With that being said she took one last glance down into the courtyard and turned on her heels. The clack of stiletto meeting stone as she strut to fade away in a swirl of muted glowing was oh so satisfying.

So satisfying.

~*~*~

The Underworld for all that it was a realm of the dead, of ghosts and souls, both tormented and joyful, of what others called monsters and creatures, was a busy and always changing realm.

So it was rare to find this realm fall silent all at once.

There are moments which define that which is come.

The eerie quiet that precedes the storm; when Silence itself seems to become a living thing of its own as it seems to gather in its breath before losing the Banshee wail.

This was one such moment.

For every being in the Underworld paused and took heed when an unnatural wind picked up and fluttered banners and flags, rustled papers and book pages, and silenced even the moans of the tormented.

Their Lord and King had carved the Underworld out of stone and earth and their Lady and Queen had brought them light and joy. Their princess on the other hand, had brought them a balance between her parents, similar, yet unique and something so purely born of and in the Underworld that she belonged to this Realm in ways even her parents could not.

No citizen of the Underworld managed to do more than breathe an almost airless breath when out of the ashes, of the earth, of the ground and the shadows, thousands of small feathery creatures emerged.

From out of the muck and mire, from the luscious loam and out of the rock itself…shaking dust and dirt off their feathers until they gleamed. Large, lumbering, skeletal forms, the wet popping of bone and sinew slurping into a wide-eyed beaked and taloned vision of unholy arrangement, the vaguely avian creatures, met with other, lighter avian forms that were glittering in well known shades of cyan and turquoise. Not one creature was like the other, their wings cracking with lightning or the purple black of the storm cloud, as they all took flight, nightmare and daydream, rising high with chirped songs of sorrow and love the thousands tiny birds returned to their duty after decades of death.

The light, airy creatures bringing back lost souls like the Valkyrie of old, except they were not so exclusive of station or purpose of death. While the larger, obviously raptor daemon-like creatures were intent on delivering nightmares and punishment.

The flapping riot of wings and the chirped songs the only sound that could be heard as they painted the dark twilight sky in all kind of shades from cyan blue to the darkest of blue-greens.

It was utterly silent in the Underworld long after the flapping of wings had faded.

A few seconds later it was as if all breath that had been held was released at the same time as the first few began to shout and cheer their joy. Cerberus and his descendants, as well as the various hellhounds all joined in with a blood-curdling howling bay.

The Earth above shifted with the sounds of trillions of souls raising their voices, and many Mortal cities would report of the unusual seismic activity that seemed to appear from nowhere.

On a wide balcony in the castle Persephone stood and watched the rising birds with both joy and dread.

“The Harbingers awaken. It has begun,” The Queen whispered. One hand clutched the smooth obsidian balustrade beneath her palm…the other stroked and danced upon the thick bark of a massive root that had grown and entwined within the rock.

Her eyes tracked the Harbingers as long as they could, using the Sight to see even beyond the stone and earth above. Every leaf and tree and frond and vine all quivered and the roots shuddered as they relayed their news.

Her husband’s aura gave a brief flicker of warning and was the only thing that told her of his presence as he stood behind her, one large mailed hand came to rest on her shoulder as he leaned down to pull her against his chest. Persephone allowed him to pull her against him and the cold metal of his armor as his other hand pushed a long, Reaper scythe into her hand.

The staff was made out of a dark gleaming metal while the blade was a wide moon like arch made out of such a dark substance that it looked like it swallowed all light around it

Hephaestus himself would have wept to have crafted such workmanship.

But he did not.

For a brief moment Persephone paused and stared at the harvest tool turned weapon before she dared to meet her husband's cyan gaze.

“You are certain?”

She knew the answer yet asked the question anyway.

“You were the one listening to the Fates, my Queen,” Hades hummed at her, a twist of his wrist and his own bident shimmered into his waiting palm at its summoning.

His hand reached out to capture her chin.

“I fought to protect our daughter last time, what makes you think I will not do so again?”

_Zeus wrath upon your people and kingdom._

Instead of answering him what she feared might happen, Persephone’s tremulous smile sharpened as the blood trickled out of her mouth as her fangs descended, dark brown eyes becoming inky cesspools so dark they started to glow the blue of the sulphur surrounding them.

Her silky gown faded away and the sleek gold and green of her armor took its place.

_~*~*~_

“Silence!” Zeus demanded, slamming his fist down on the side of his throne.

A hushed silence immediately felt over the assembled court.

Nostrils flaring he glared into the circle of gathered gods.

“Someone,” he snarled. “Killed the vessel holding parts of Princess Melinoë’s powers. Most importantly…her _wings_.”

At his announcement the gathered gods looked up in shock before another round of questions and discussions shattered forth.

“Silence!” the King of God roared once more. “Someone killed one of my daughters to do so! I want that someone found!” by now his otherwise superficial beautiful face was contorted into a vicious snarl. The uneasy shift of the gathered crowd – especially those _known_ daughters of Zeus – would have been hilarious in other circumstances.

“I've send out Hermes and Apollo to find the culprit but so far they have turned up empty handed.”

More chatter and mutters rose.

“Ares!” Zeus snapped, turning everyone's attention to him once more. “I want you to find me that demigod filth you claim as son and bring him and his _wife_ here. No doubt one of the _new_ godly presences on earth is _her_.”

The grin hat appeared on Ares face promised bloodshed.

“With all due respect,” Athena voiced, sending a hushed whisper among the gathered gods. “For what reason are we summoning the Underworld Princess?”

She stood proud when all gazes turned upon her while settling her own myrtle green gaze upon her king and father.

“The whelp has regained her godhood, something that we took from her.” her father snarled beyond furious. “I'll not have her regaining it!”

“My king,” Athena spoke up once more, neck giving a slight half bow to her Father King but not giving up her fight. “The princess has been punished and her powers and life have been ripped from her,” she continued. “The punishment has _already_ been dealt for the offense.”

Knowing she was walking on thin ice she once more bowed her head.

“Please consider the Underworld’s reaction if you attempt to punish her _again_ , for a transgression you have already deemed her innocent of per the last Conclave. She is the Underworld's _only_ heir and there are no grounds for these actions of which you wish to partake.”

That seemed to make Zeus consider her words, as he rubbed his cheek in thought.

“I hear your concerns my daughter.” he admitted before returning his gaze to Ares. “You will still bring them here.”

Ares' grin widened as he bowed his head. “Of course,” his red gaze turned onto Athena briefly. “I'll retrieve _my_ son and _his_ wife swiftly.”

~*~*~

Cameron Klein stared at the woman on his screen with wide eyes. After his last encounter with the other strange woman, who had _somehow_ gotten security clearance from him, he started writing up an algorithm, because clearly that woman had used some kind of mental power.

Now there was another woman in the lobby.

This one seemed far more polite and waited patiently after announcing that she had been sent with a high security message for Tony Stark as well as Brock Rumlow and Darcy Lewis.

She made no move to fend off the security guards that bade her to sit down in a waiting area though she chose to stand.

The tiny elfin like woman had not revealed from whom the message was, insisting that she needed to give it personally.

She scared Cameron.

Not the way the other woman had.

No.

This new woman’s appearance gave him the creeps. It was almost like the day that Hydra revealed themselves; there was something potent in the air and he was terrified.

The new woman’s papers were correct; she _appeared_ to be a perfectly normal civilian.

Yeah, and Natasha Romanoff was Mother Teresa.

The only problem was, that somehow this woman who had no security clearance in any agencies known, knew of their head of security and their lab manager.

She was on neithers list for friends or relatives.

His algorithm also picked up a strange fluctuation in her appearance. Unlike the first woman who had used whatever mental abilities she possessed to let everyone who met her see someone else and almost fall over themselves to help her, this one seemed perfectly normal … only that she appeared to have _wings_ when he ran the algorithm over the video fed.

With a sigh, he raised his head towards the ceiling. “J.A.R.V.I.S?”

“Yes, Mr. Klein?” the A.I. Instantly asked. “How can I be of service?”

“I'm having a security issue here. It might be nothing but …,” he shook his head. “Both Mr. Rumlow and Mr. Rollins have their privacy protocols activated and there is someone down in the lobby with a message for Mr. Stark, Mr. Rumlow and Darcy.” Cameron told the A.I. System. “I mean Miss Lewis.” he corrected with a soft smile. “Due to the current events with the shapeshifters and Miss Lewis’ abduction I would like to inform Mr. Stark that the woman in the lobby seems to have, uh, _wings_. She has not made any attempt to force her way in but I'm,” he trailed off for a moment, once more staring at the screen. “I'm unsure how to deal with this situation.”

“Verily Mr. Klein, a complicated situation.” the A.I. Answered in its British accent. “I shall inform Sir of your findings.”

“Thank you,”

“You are very much welcome, Mr. Klein,” J.A.R.V.I.S. responded.

Cameron leaned back in his chair with a sigh, contacting Mr. Stark directly always had him incredible nervous. That man was a genius after all.

“Mr. Klein?” J.A.R.V.I.S. questioned drawing him out of his musings. “Mr. Stark is on his way to the lobby to retrieve Miss Iris. He would like for you to accompany him. An elevator will be waiting for you,” the A.I. Informed before continuing in what sounded like amusement. “I'm sure I do not have to remind you to save your work and log out.”

Cameron gabbed at the ceiling in surprise. “Of … of course not! Right away!”

He could swear he heard a soft chuckle over the speakers while he scrambled to get his things and hurried out the door.

~*~*~

Tony cocked his head to the side and rubbed his chin at the information J.A.R.V.I.S had given him.

“Well, get Klein into the same elevator as me. The kid keeps surprising me.” Tony ordered. “And schedule him for a pay rise. I think we can bring him into the fold, nothing but good work and dedication. His talents are wasted in security.”

“Of course, Sir.” J.A.R.V.I.S answered. “Just do not let Mr. Rumlow hear you say this. I've heard he and Mr. Rollins have taken quite the liking to Mr. Klein after he showed some especially strong _balls_ , as one would say, during the Hydra Uprising.”

“Ha!” Tony laughed while speed-walking towards the elevators. “I've seen that video, kid almost pissed his pants but god damn it those are called balls of steel.”

Reaching the elevator he stepped inside. “Take me down to meet our newest adoption into the Crazy Family.”

The elevator started moving downward and stopped on one of the personal apartment floors of the Avengers, with a soft ding the door opened and both Steve and Bucky stepped inside.

“Heard from J.A.R.V.I.S you have another potential _not-human_ problem.” Bucky offered as an explanation while both of them moved to flank him.

For a moment Tony blinked at them before shaking his head. “Much appreciated guys,” a brow arched at the ceiling in question.

“Apologies, Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S said, not sounding sorry at all. “The Captain and the Sergeant insisted on being informed when you tried to do things solo again.”

A soft grunt escaped him and Tony rolled his eyes. “Out of all of us three I'm the one most likely to be able to recognize and deal with something supernatural.”

As if his words offended some kind of god the doors dinged open once more and all three men met Circe's fiery ocean green gaze.

Damn but that woman made leather and steel look good. Almost better than Romanoff and Tony was amused at how the Frozen Chosen both seemed to adjust themselves, already straight posture almost rigid as they shifted.

“Ma’am?” Rogers began but Rambo’s Momma threw up a hand in clear dismissal as she strut into the elevator as if she owned it without so much as a by-your-leave.

“My wards alarmed me,” she announced and practically floated into the elevator. “You have the Goddess of Rainbows in your lobby, Mr. Stark.”

“Shit,” Tony cursed. “Nothing good ever comes from one of _her_ visits.”

“Why?” Steve questioned and Tony could easily spot his fist balling.

“Because,” Circe spoke up. “She is the personal messenger goddess of the High Queen. If she is here she has a message to deliver.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love how you turn my simple chapters into true masterpieces. This story wouldn't be the same without you [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
>   
>  **Update:**  
>   
>  I gave birth on the 6th of December - a new little Miss Cookie has joined our family.  
> Updates for this story will take a while


	41. Fly you fools

“What were you thinking?”

The softly spoken accusation was like an owl feather brushing across your skin, soft and fluffy, but hard like steel if moved fast enough. Even more alarming was the calm delivery as the godly presence made itself known in a rather sharp snap of warm power.

Like owl feather brushing across your skin, soft and fluffy, but hard like steel if moved fast enough.

All the more foreboding if one knew what hid behind the gentle facade of wisdom.

“Lady Athena,” Johann Schmidt turned slowly from his kneeling supplication before the stone altar.

Clasping his hands behind his back he fulfilled his dance like turn to meet the goddess gaze head on. “I did not expect your visit.”

The intentionally dim lighting in the underground temple was unfavorable on the goddess’s normal complexion. Seemingly poreless skin shaded in the richest, dark loam of the Earth, the lighting made for an unnatural ashy hue, the shadows ashy and paling and creating sharp, irregular angles and the deep green of her eyes to a near unfathomable black.

“No?” a single brow arched in an unspoken challenge.

Turning to look around the sacrificing chamber she scrunched her nose at the lingering darkness, the gloom and the repugnant stench of blood both fresh and old; of desiccated bodies in various stages of decay. Their limbs almost artfully arrayed in the way of scientists eagerly observing the affects of death and time.

“I see you have been busy preparing a habitation pleasing enough to summon your _father_ ,” Athena clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Such a crass place and equally crude method to do so. Your sire’s taste and influence is … prevalent.”

With a look of utter disgust on her face she utilized the tip of her spear to flick what may have been a limb or various entrails out of the way and only then did she take a step forward.

“Ah,” Red Skull almost purred and Athena gave a sharp glare at the tone.

“I'm not planning to summon my father,” he revealed while a sadistic smile found its way onto his grotesque lips. “I have found that the feeling of these old temples help in my process to think.”

Moving from his place by the altar he bowed and gestured towards the exit of said temple. “The reason I had this temple brought here stone for stone in the first place.”

“And the macabre decoration is just aesthetically pleasing?” Athena questioned him in clearly displayed disgust, side-eying the gore with something akin to judgement. “That helps you think?”

“Perhaps.” the demigod allowed.

~~~

The elevator door opened with a swoosh and Cameron felt his heart drop and his nervousness spike tenfold.

Not only was _Mr. Stark himself_ in the elevator but also _Captain America_ and _**the**_ _Winter Soldier_! So overwhelmed was he that he didn’t immediately notice an unfamiliar gorgeous blond whom put even Sharon Carter to shame was also present.

Any single one of them would have been enough to make him nervous on a good day; the combination of his penultimate boss, a national treasure, the infamous Winter Soldier and the unnerving soul piercing gaze of the woman would have anyone at loss for words and nerves.

“Well,” Mr. Stark raised an eyebrow at him. “Hop, hop. Inside you go.”

“I…erm, uh, what?” Oh god, he was sweating. Why was he sweating?

“You. Walk. Inside. Elevator. Now,” Mr. Stark clapped with each word as he spoke each one as if they were a complete sentence on their own.

“Elevator, inside, now, yes, yes, yes, of course sir!” Cameron stuttered nervously and quickly moved inside. “Mr. Stark, Sir. Captain, sir! Sergeant Barnes and … Miss…??.” he greeted nervously.

Cameron was more terrified than he had been when Triple-Agent Former Commander Brock Rumlow held a gun to his head during the whole SHEILDRA fiasco.

With all that had been going on recently, this new woman had him further on the edge.

She held herself in a very proud manner, and at first her eyes appeared blue, but when she tilted her head, green reflected back as well, reminding him of a few places by the ocean where the blues and greens mixed and swirled. He also, being the acknowledged prey animal that he was surrounded by such super predatory-types as the former STRIKE team members [the clean ones not the legit Hydra goons] turned STARK Industries – Avengers Tower security personnel as well as the actual-facts Avengers themselves- had the strongest sensation that he just _knew_ she could kill him faster than anyone else in the elevator.

Something in him screamed at the potential danger. It would not be surprising in the least if they introduced her as a Black Widow or _something._.

Feeling his throat tightening he swallowed nervously.

“Don't be nervous, Klein.” Mister Stark clapped him on his shoulder. “We're all friends here and you did splendid work.” the big boss beamed at him in a almost child-like glee. “I've decided to up your security clearance, you'll be working with us from now on. Pepper will arrange the details but nothing says you can't join us immediately.” he rambled a little and Cameron's eyes widened as he tried to process everything. “So, first thing first, you little genius,” Mr. Stark continued. “I can't believe you managed to write a program that can look through Glamour’s and Veils.”

“What?” Cameron stuttered a little and blinked at the group as a entire time the elevator had been moving downward toward the lobby levels.

_He had done what?_

“What?” Mister Stark – Iron Man – repeated back, blinking slowly at him as if he could not compute.

“What do you mean glamours and veils and why did it sound like you capitalized them?!?”

The scary woman who made him think she was on a level of danger the likes of which the Black Widow and The Winter Soldier belonged – OH EM GEE _the_ actual, OG Winter Soldier was in this elevator too! – that Scary Lady gave a laugh that tasted of sunshine happiness and a darker, metallic tang that reminded him too keenly of a knife’s edge. Meanwhile, Captain America, aka Steve Rogers, face-palmed in the background and groaned with something like resignation, “Tony!”

Sergeant Barnes, the Winter Soldier, snickered, while the blond woman who still had yet to be introduced rolled her eyes.

“Magic, darling, boy. Magic,” her lilting voice was a Siren’s call, and he swore he heard the echoes of roiling waves against the shoreline. One of her hands moved elegantly and created a shimmering blue swirling pattern in the air and Cameron sucked in a breath.

“What Tony wants to say but seems incapable of is,” the Captain rumbled over Mister Stark’s protests at the description with a snort. “That you somehow managed to find a way to look through magic with technology and he is jealous.”

“Precisely,” Tony Stark nodded before seeming to realize what the Captain had said and stuttered out denials, “Wait what? I am not jealous, moi? No, no!”

~~~

“You murdered a daughter of Zeus.”

It wasn't a statement, the accusation was clear in the goddess tone.

“That I did,” Johann Schmidt admitted without hesitation or penitence.

His wary eyes kept track of the Goddess of War, a lifetime and more under his sire’s tutelage lending itself to a deep set paranoia that had served him well, allowing for his continued existence upon this plane.

“And?”

“It was a partial success.” he continued. “It appears that we do need the blood of two gods to succeed.”

“Is that so?”

The Goddess didn’t seem to be very impressed – or, more accurately – seemed to feel as if this hard-earned information should have been something that should have been assumed and therefore all his efforts, all the sacrifices to this point, appeared in vain.

Red Skull clicked his tongue in distaste.

“Whatever allowed the serum work for Steve Rogers, seemed to have worked _only_ for him, and only this once,” he huffed in aggravation at the mystery that still eluded him. “ I can only conclude after much testing that we are dealing with something genetic; something or someone specifically in his heritage that made it possible, to have succeeded on such a scale. Mayhap a god or other such divinity as yet unknown flows through his veins.”

The goddess of wisdom and war set her unwavering gaze and pursed lips upon him which caused him to clasp his hands behind his back. “You are displeased, my lady?”

“Yes!” the confirmation and the dark gaze caused a frown to appear upon the Skull's face. “All this time, this effort to bring you back from where the Tesseract was intending to dispose of you; all that for nothing! The only thing brought about by this obsession, aside from your questionable taste in décor and ambiance, is by telling me something that I and anyone with half a brain cell on Olympus already knows: One god’s bloodline is not enough, it would take two or more. You also had the audacity and sheer _stupidity_ of barbarically ripping this information into being by going after a daughter of Zeus…Of Zeus you stupid son of my warmongering whore of a brother!

“Tell me, Nephew: Did you really think my father would _not_ be aware of his progeny being murdered? Of one whom was sacrificed and so who’s death would be made known to him upon his or hers expiring?!”

The Red Skull took an unintentional step backward at the passion in his Aunt’s face as she spun about on her heel from her pacing to come forward to spit her Truth in his face. He would never admit it, but in that moment, as fire and fury and the deadly prowl of a Soldier of War who had shed many a mortal and immortal’s blood, that moment he saw for perhaps the first time the relation of this Goddess to his Sire. How she would loathe the comparison she was anything like her much hated brother.

Athena continued onward, and he had to settle the pounding of his heart to listen as she all but growled the rest in a lower register he had to strain to hear.

“He may not give a damn about us until we are useful, but rest assured he is _very_ aware of every, single, _living_ child of his. We _are_ the foundation of his power, why do you think he breeds so many? Think, you fool!

“There is a reason why so many of my bastard siblings are so powerful. Our sire is powerful, our potential normally far greater than any due to our Father. _He_ had been chosen to lead, to save us from our Grandfather the Mad Titan over Hades, over Poseidon. By killing _her_ and whatever second or third bloodline - you _also_ set free sealed powers beyond your comprehension. Olympus is in chaos and our plans are in danger due to your _unthinking_ act.”

To call the goddess pissed off was an understatement. Closing her eyes, and bringing a hand to the bridge of her nose, she scoffed, “Am I disappointed he asks? Hah!”

Johann had difficulty swallowing past the lump in his throat and was considering how he could remove himself from the situation when the unmistakable sound of a blade piercing skin and cutting through flesh and bone had his eyes snap up at the same time as splatters of golden blood hit his front.

“Really, Athena,” the deep voice of Ares rumbled, while his paw like hand clasped her shoulder as he thrust his blade deeper upward, the hand directing the pommel rotating so that the blade twisted and tore with as much damage as possible, the choked gasps as lungs and other vital tissue were violated a shocking refrain in the room that had still been ringing with the goddesses rant.

The clang as the spear fell from spasming fingers was almost as startling, the beautiful body twisting in a vain effort to maintain that fragile hold onto Life in an effort to stave off Death, but only succeeding in speeding it up.

“Speaking of disappointments, _Sister_ ,” Ares sneered the familial acknowledgment mockingly, moving with his sister’s body in a grisly parody of a dance as he easily kept her on the edge and point of his sword, “One would think _you_ as a war goddess would enjoy the chaos on Olympus more.”

While Johann moved back a few steps, staring wide eyed at the two gods before him, Ares used the same hand on her shoulder to yank her backwards into his chest, and in a bastardization of an intimate embrace, grabbed her chin and forcing it up so as to lick off some of the blood splattered across her cheeks.

“Or that you would at least put up more of a fight.” he continued tauntingly, humming in her ear at the taste of fresh blood…. Divine Blood.

Athena shuddered at the feel of that tongue against her cheek, stomach roiling with more than just the pain her injuries had caused.

“Relax, _Sister,_ ” Ares laughed, grip on her chin tightening and a slight yank to the sword still impaling her, as if she needed a further reminder she was at his mercy. “I am not as our sire in _that_ respect. I prefer my paramours to not be so closely related. You are safe from me…in _that_ regard.”

“How?” Athena wetly choked out, one hand clasped to her profoundly bleeding front as blood from her lungs welled out of her mouth and dribbled in a steady stream down her chin. “Why…?? Why…how…how are you _here?_ Father sent you to retrieve your _other_ bastard. You cannot disobey his commands.”

“Ah, yes,” Ares chuckled and clicked his tongue, savoring his sister’s taste and the scent of her defeat just that much more. “He did. And I will, just as ordered. However, as I am sure you are _very much_ aware _,_ since you like to use them so much _,_ there are always loopholes. I will retrieve my “other” bastard as you state … in time, all in good time. There was no real deadline specified now was there?”

“But I knew you would come here first, to check on things and since your meddling caused Johann here, to kill that _special_ daughter,” he shrugged in a maniacal way. “I had to speed up my own plans.” his sharp fanged grin turned feral. “And what better to cause even more panic and unrest on Olympus than the sudden death of one of our own?”

“You, bastard!”

Ares laughed and it was not pleasant to bear witness to.

“Oh, my dear, beautiful, wonderful, oh so _clever_ and yet disgustingly judgmental tart of a _sister_. We both know that is not the case … my father is in fact married to my mother and was at the time of my conception and birth from all accounts …. The same cannot be said for you now can it?”

Athena shrieked and a shot of anger gave her a renewed burst of strength, and she struggled, valiantly if futilely. It was difficult to get any leverage when one is buried to the literal hilt in one’s back from the weapon disgorging itself out your front. But never let it be said that Athena did not try.

Bloody fingers grabbed the ones holding her hostage and yanked, sharply hard, delighting in the cracking of bone and sinew. At the pained hiss, she threw her weight and head to the side, forehead catching the chiseled jaw and cheek of her captor, and then just as abruptly threw herself forward. She did not have much time before he healed and she knew it, had to make it count.

Ares’s blade felt just as terrible sliding out as it had going in, Athena distantly thought.

Hitting the floor and taking the impact on her knees and elbows she rolled to the side, instinct and the experience of numerous battles rolling her back and away as the whistle of the blade whirled too close to where her head would have been if she would have zigged instead of zagged.

Habit of millennia at war meant she knew where he weapon had been at all times, even mounted on the point of her brother’s sword as she had been, and by the time she had come up out of her rolling crouch she met her brother’s swing with the haft of her spear, twirling her weapon until the business end faced her opponent even as breathing became far more challenging.

It wasn’t often Athena allowed herself to regret.

Ares hadn’t always been this way. At the beginning, Ares would use his gifts of battle to defend, rather than be the constant aggressor. Athena herself had once trained and sparred and learned from this sibling who would in time become known as the most despised and hated of all of Olympus, much less the God King’s progeny.

Zeus had constantly put down this son of his. No matter how hard he tried, no matter whom he had to kill or how often he pleaded with his father, Ares was the son of the woman he despised the most who bore the crown that matched his own.

In an effort to placate their God, their King, the Court of Olympus shunned this brother. Reveling and overdramatizing his failures, gloried at the jeers and taunts. Athena regretted that she, too, in an effort to survive the fickle affections of her Father King, turned her back and her revulsion and her cunning and competitiveness upon her brother.

Eventually, Ares stopped trying to act as protector, as brother.

Instead, he became the monster his Father and the Court decreed.

Facing that monster now, Athena regretted. She could see her death in her brother’s eyes and it plucked at some distant piece of what remained of the heart she buried. Bitter at the thought all her sacrifices were for naught.

“Let’s make this count,” she bared her own sharpened teeth, gathered the last of her strength and breath and launched herself with a battle cry that seemed to make Time and Space tremble and stand still.

Johann Schmidt, the Red Skull, was the only mortal to bear witness and even he could not say for certain what he saw. He who had fought against that so-called First Avenger, a man who’s martial skill and prowess was renowned, could barely even keep up.

Moving at speeds only his demi-divinity allowed himself the barest glimpses of, the Skull could only stare in horrified awe as his Aunt and his Sire proved just why they were the God and Goddess of War.

Parry, strike, spin, dodge. A seemingly never-ending flurry of blows – some that hit their mark and many others meant to diffuse, to deflect, to distract – carried the combatants throughout the room.

And the magic.

Oh, the magic! Such magic Johann Schmidt had never seen and would likely never do so again, not with such intimacy.

Like the crescendo as the orchestra fought for the climax, so too did the magic flitter on the air. The Force had nothing on what the oldest of the New Titans did to one another.

Telekinetic bursts of choking, pieces of debris winding in unseen tornadoes, gusts of wind that should not exist underground … the calling of Old Blood and Old Wounds in an attempt to distract or flickers of Power that melted the surroundings into goo and made Schmidt shudder to imagine what it would do to flesh.

Yet he could not look away.

Athena was liquid grace – a type of deadly beauty mimicked by the cobra’s coils, the swiftness of a bird of prey grasping the unsuspecting in it’s talons. The spear a whirling dervish of defense and attack, giving distance when needed or allowing an opening to strike with feet or the dagger that the Skull blinked and then she had it in her opposite hand, striking true to split his sire’s abdominal flesh, but nothing deep enough than a mere scratch.

Ares was the surprising rush and sheer brute strength of the great white shark; the unforgiving raw intensity of the Kodiak and the nimble otherworldly balance of the big cats. Sword and dagger danced upon dexterous finger tips, sure in their grip despite the sweat and blood coating them, a display of ambidexterity that would have been impressive on it’s own even had he not been the Immortal Son of A Bitch.

Two sides of the same coin … but as all who know, Fate decrees that only one side would face up in victory.

As quickly as the fight had begun, it ended.

Critically wounded from the outset, there was never any doubt whom the victor would be. It was just the quality of the death that was in question.

Once more the clattering of spear on smooth stone resounded loudly in the subterranean temple that would be her tomb. Leaning and bracing herself against a slab of stone, Athena hysterically laughed bloody wheezes as she realized it was her Nephews sacrificial altar.

  
  


Prowling forward as the predator that knows it’s prey is in it’s grasp, Ares approached the too slow to heal goddess.

“What a pity,” he mused, twirling one of the swords in a move Athena blinked to recognize as one her other bastard nephew favored. “That those fools of mortals only worship you for your _wisdom_ eh?”

He easily deflected Athena's half-hearted weakened attack with her dagger, and the gleaming golden blade moved like the strike of the adder to pierce through the goddess’s throat and up into her skull.

“How the mighty have fallen. Too bad for you that the toxic patriarchy based off our oh-so-delightful sire was more concerned with your alleged purity and removing any agency of yours… had you still been worshipped for the war goddess you had been, you would at least have been a worthy challenge.”

An almost gentle push to the corpse and a burst of magic had her removed off his blade and sprawled across the altar behind her, legs dangling and limbs giving their last twitches. Only when the body lay still, did Ares step back to stare down upon his fallen sister. For the briefest of moments, something other than bloodlust flashed in his piercing gaze gone crimson with bloodlust and power.

“Try to betray me again, Johann, and you will wish I killed you as merciful as I did to my sister.”

The deep, precisely elocuted words in a low pitch were shocking from a man who was bombastic and overly loud. Slowly, that crimson Powered gaze tilted away from its most recent kill to impale its progeny as deadly as if he had physically run him through.

Stiffly Johann pushed his feet together in a way that made his boots clack, his whole posture rigid even as he quaked to tremble on the inside.

“Yes, Father.”

Once again, the God of War grinned, smiling with fangs but absolutely no humor was present.

“‘ _Yes, Father_ ,’” Ares purposefully mocked in a high-pitched tone, and the Red Skull did tremble then, suddenly, horrifyingly recognizing the danger he was in and swallowing harshly.

“Did you really think that I wouldn't notice you sending my sister offerings, boy?” the deep throaty chuckle promised pain. “Collaborating with her in the dark of night? Did you not think that I, who is the personification of war, would not know the benefit of keeping an eye on enemy and alleged ally alike? Did you genuinely believe, that just because I prefer the armor and weaponry of days past that your so called ‘modern’ warfare has escaped my skillset? You fool!”

He really should have seen the backhand that sent him crashing into the walls of his temple coming and yet … between one blink and the next he was on his hands and knees, facing the wall as his head and jaw throbbed with the pain of his sire’s blow.

“Who do you think whispered the secrets of the atom? Who gave visions of the potential the energy from Gaia herself could cause? To lead them in the direction of which metals would mix to create a sturdier weapon than ever before? Upon who’s orders do you think Prometheus stole the fire? Who assisted him, I wonder, boy?”

He couldn’t control the mad racing of his heart as an unyielding hand clamped down upon his neck and he was airborne again, being lifted as easily as a piece of paper from his prone position by his neck and the uninjured side of his face met stone at the barest flex of muscle.

“Who whispers of the potential for each new mineral, each chemical equation? Who taught the Hashshashin and the samurai their craft? Who told them to find their strength and solace and power in the shadows where the ‘good’ citizens fear to gaze? _She_ might have once been the so-called wiser of the two of us, but I am afraid for you and many others, my son, and that my sister found out too late is that I am _far_ from dumb. I am a _god_! _**Your**_ god!” Ares roared this, nostrils flaring, as once again the Skull was picked up by the scruff of his neck and just dangled in the air.

He was not a small man by mortal means, but his sire made him feel as if he were a mere ant under someone’s boot, dangling as he was, and he trembled as Ares brought them face to face, some unseen force binding about him so his arms, legs, and hands could not move and he could barely breathe.

Wait…he _couldn’t_ breathe! That same outside, unseen force binding his limbs was even now cutting off his air! The tingle that started in the back of his neck where his sire held him spread to the inside, and now his lungs were heaving, the bastardized serum in his lungs desperately using every last ounce of oxygen from his muscles and blood to offset the poison of the carbon dioxide now trapped in his lungs.

“Listen, child of mine, and listen well. The only reason you are still alive is the fact that I require you to kill Zeus. Never, _ever_ , make the mistake of thinking I won't dispose of you should you prove to be useless or a threat to my plans.”

The unseen Power released its grip on his airways the same moment Ares threw him against the altar his Aunt’s corpse sprawled across, and he took great heaving lungful’s of much needed air.

He cast a terrified gaze upon his sire, as with a flicker of the sword he still carried in one hand, blood red flames appeared and hungrily hissed and spit and salivated with smoke and heat at the motionless body of the former goddess of Wisdom.

The fire itself seemed to growl and take on a life of its own, and Johann Schmidt realized it _was_ hungry and he was the preferred meal. Panic as memories of another fire assaulted him, yet this time he was the one who would be at the mercy of a primal force far more unforgiving than even he himself.

Frantically, he uselessly beat at the flames that seemed to mock and snap at him, snarling but never quite reaching him as that now familiar unseen force refused to allow it to consume him, though he was not impervious to the heat that seemed to grow in intensity. He also could not move off the altar though he was able to scoot himself away from his aunt’s burning corpse that was resplendent in the glow of the flames and the Divine essence trapped in a now semi-mortal fleshly container.

“You fear the fire more than you hate your nemesis,” Ares observed, and the Red Skull withheld the urge to vomit, or worse…cry.His sire knew.

Ares always seemed to know when someone – especially his offspring’s – were at their most vulnerable.

It was a terrible gift the Red Skull feared and envied with equal measure.

“Surprised? I do not know why you would be. Why would I not be aware of my son’s fears? Those paralyzing weaknesses that keep you up when you should be in Morpheus’s sweet embrace? What kind of father do you take me for, Johann?”

The hand to his breast, the pouting lower lip, and the faux hurt mien to his face was a touch overdramatic, perhaps.

Tsking and shaking his head while reaching casually into the licking flames, Ares took a hold of the godly powers writhing in a mass like a ball of earthworms exposed to the sun.

“You can't kill a god,” Ares explained in a perfectly normal voice, as if talking about the weather or something as equally banal and not as if he were not grasping the Divine essence of the sister he murdered and ripped them apart, not even bothering to try and untangle them.

“But you can destroy their bodies, their vessels.”

Fangs out he bit into the golden power like a starving, rabid wolf.

“And their souls,” he grunted and seemed to swallow before he settled his gaze upon his son.

It was like staring into the abyss and having it stare back at you. There was a consideration to that gaze, a weight and measure that Schmidt felt for the first time that he may be lacking.

“And as long as their powers are put to use, they won't be reborn into something new.”

With those words, his sire tossed the tiniest threads of that golden power, through whatever force Ares used to keep him compliant and, dare he think it, safe from the unholy flames that even now, whispered and roared his name, calling for his death?

Unthinkingly he ‘caught’ what was thrown his way and he whimpered at the pain as the Power flared brightly golden, the hue changing almost the same green grass color of his aunt’s eyes.

 _Johann,_ the flames seemed to hiss, their words slithering into his mind where he couldn’t be rid of them.

 _Son of Ares, we seeeee youuu,_ they purred. _We remember how goooood you taste._

“No,” the Red Skull denied, gripping the sliver of Power tighter despite the growing heated discomfort in his palm.

 _We want more,_ the flames snarled, before becoming a great roar. _GIVVE USSS MOOOORRRREEE!!!_

“Be silent!” Ares commanded, something gold flashing in his usual red eyes – _and the flames obeyed!_

Schmidt didn’t have long to ponder the unnatural silence of the fire roaring and glowing without a whisper of sound before his father once more took center stage.

“Eat! Get used to your powers. There are still things that need to be done before we can kill your grandfather.”

“Yes, father.”

Staring down at the pulsing, living power in his hands for only a few seconds longer Johann Schmidt, Red Skull, took a bite of it and instantly felt the searing hot pain and euphoria, that the power brought with it, burning and scalding as it raced through his veins.

The Red Skull threw his head back and screamed as he was consumed from the inside out.

“Yes, father.”

~~~

The sight that greeted them in the lobby was not what they expected.

Underneath her glamour, which made her look perfectly human, the Rainbow Goddess was pressing a hand over a long gash in her side, which still bled profoundly.

One of her wings was missing a large junk of plumage, some the golden feathers were lying scattered across the floor, most of them splattered with blood.

Dark bruises were already forming on the exposed skin of her arms and neck, and Steve cringed at the sight. Physically, stature wise, she was a tiny thing and it was difficult for him to see a woman this beaten up.

Technically he knew that this was not an innocent civilian, but that didn't change the fact that clearly this goddess had arrived here right after a fight.

“Lady Iris!” Circe was the first to speak up, recognizing their guest and heading towards the much smaller female on swift feet, and the relief on the new arrival’s face at seeing the Sorceress was profound. “What happened?”

The sharp directive and take charge attitude was once again so reminiscent of their absent Head of Security, Bucky and Steve shared darkly amused looks for a brief moment.

Tony waved off the security guards who watched frowning, and Cameron Klein gave a start.

“Does anyone else notice how like, the Commander she is?” he attempted to whisper and Tony almost lost it.

Pursing light-rose painted lips the tiny goddess let her everchanging eyes settle upon the sorceress approaching her.

“Lady Circe,” she tipped her head in greeting before she frowned down at her injuries. “I had an unfortunate encounter with that Weasel, Hermes, and the wannabe God of Strength Apollo.”

For a moment she paused before a wicked little smile of supreme satisfaction graced her lips.

“We won't see Apollo for some time, I managed to port him near a black hole, and he will be busy for an unforeseeable time with escaping its gravity.”

Circe nodded but clicked her tongue in disapproval while finishing her assessment of the goddesses injuries.

“My healing supplies are in my quarters upstairs.”

Belatedly, she briefly glanced at Tony who nodded his head in resigned affirmation.

The offer was clear, and Iris nodded briskly, her shoulders sagging in relief.

“I'd appreciate it,” meeting Tony's eyes she continued. “I do have messages to deliver though.”

“Clearly,” Tony raised an eyebrow. “That can wait. We have a whole medical floor,” a few gestures with his hands and he had a hologram ready. “Not what you are used to but with the help of Lady Circe I'm sure we can patch you up nicely enough, ... can we expect an attack in the next few minutes?”

Moving one hand in an inviting gesture their group moved back towards the elevator, while some sleight of hand and magic swept the blood and loose feathers into a little pocket that appeared from nowhere on Circe’s pants like cargos. Cameron just continued to stare and felt more and more out of his depth as each minute passed.

Bucky briefly considered patting his shoulder in sympathy, but a brief consideration told him that would probably scare the poor kid into the next decade and they didn’t have time for this. The Soldier could feel it in his very bones, organic and otherwise, of the oncoming fight. Each ally would be needed, especially one that had proved so effective.

The Soldier silently raised the Support Operative’s threat level from a 1 to a potential 6. The sheer unpredictability of this man’s skillset and seemingly ‘luck’ needed to be taken into account.

“I would hope not.” There was tension in that pixie like body that even now refused to give in to the obvious pain of her injuries. “But I fear it is likely to be possible. If you could call for the princess and her husband. I must warn them that Zeus has dispatched Ares to gather them and I fear it will not go over well.”

“No shit,” Circe snorted and Steve opened his mouth automatically – probably to state his oft-used phrase word – and Bucky’s organic hand slapped over the Captain’s mouth with a resounding slap.

“Should I inform Security?” Cameron peeped up after a moment of shocked silence in which Tony, Circe, and the Lady Iris all blinked at Bucky and a shell shocked Captain, and then blushed at how high and unsure his voice sounded.

“No,” Tony looked up while tapping rapidly at his wrist gauntlet. “Jarvis, I have a bad feeling about today. Give the civilians a day off pronto. I want the building empty in half and hour at the latest to account for the safety of turning off the high-risk experiments currently ongoing. Only high-clearance staff and by that I mean Avengers and Security personnel only.”

It took about one seconds for the ceiling lights to darken significantly and a orange light to blink overhead.

The whole tower seemed to freeze for a moment before people began to evacuate.

Tony took no chances with his employees and there were strict consequences to those stubborn minds who willfully disobeyed an evacuation order. Stark Tower had been at risk well before the Avengers and what was left of SHIELD were added to the fold.

Obadiah Stane and the Ten Rings had seared into the billionaire former playboy the harsh reality of collateral damage.

He never, _ever_ , wanted to hear that previously living, breathing people [ men, women, non-binary – people who loved, laughed, were more than just footnotes or statistics ] reduced to being labeled as mere collateral damage [they were mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, lovers, aunts and uncles…they fucking mattered].

They were _his_ people, every one of them.

Cameron saw the Captain nod at Tony, a thankful expression on his face.

“Good call,” he turned to look around. “I'll help get everyone out of here.” the Captain Voice TM was back. “Buck, I'd appreciate it if you could get everyone into gear and on coms.”

“Klein,” Mr. Stark waved him over. “You come with us; I need brain power upstairs.” he grinned at the two woman. “You don't mind, do you ladies?”

The red-haired woman, who was still bleeding scoffed.

“He is cute,” she chirped. “What are you doing with an acolyte, grandson of Hephaestus? Can he _see_?”

~~~

Darcy blinked slowly, once, twice, lying still against her husband’s form.

She wanted to ask him “Come again?” but she knew it was pointless because she had understood him just fine and she could feel it. Now that she wasn't distracted by both the fact that her husband had become a god and his horniness (she willfully ignored the fact that she herself had been very willing to do the horizontal tango).

She could _feel_ her powers.

Gaia, bless her, she could _feel her powers again!_

The familiar comforting feeling of them flowed and weaved through her very essence, through her innermost core, she was whole again.

Well, almost, her lightening was still missing but …

Blinking once more Darcy moved her inward turned gaze to meet her husbands, gently and slowly she untangled herself from him and sat up to scoot across to the center of their bed.

Almost as if in a trance and with shaking fingers she undid the knot of the towel and let the fluffy thing slip down to pile around her hips. For a second their eyes met… She ignored the interested heat that sat banked within her husband’s eyes, apparently always at the ready, but this …. This was more important.

“Stay,” she commanded her mate, baring her fangs and he hissed back but stayed in place, reluctantly.

Pleased at his compliance, grudging or otherwise, she focused once more on the task that was at hand. Turning her head to look over her shoulder, catching her eyes in the full sized mirror banked against the opposing wall, and almost breathless as if in a dream [ a dream she had had since they were ripped away from her only to wake in disappointment ] she allowed the tingling in her spine to grow and blossom, unfurl and unfold and into she fucking _willed_ her wings to emerge.

Beginning from just under her scapula running parallel down her thoracic and lumbar vertebrae, and ending just before brushing the upper curve of her glutes, the jagged scars that had been cauterized by her father-in-law’s flames and recently faded due to the combination of her husband’s power and her own, sliced open anew. Despite the obvious wounds and the blood tainting the air with a metallic coppery hue, Darcy honestly couldn’t recall feeling a thing.

A shot of adrenaline and a euphoric, all encompassing sense of _relief_ nearly overwhelmed her, as rising like a leviathan from the deep, a massive twisting pillar of bone and slurping sinew rose at least two full feet above the crown of her head.

Darcy gave a cry and arched first backward, arms spread out in a human’s pining for flight, and then suddenly curved inward and against the bedding, talons shredding through the sheets and mattress like it was spun sugar, and the pillar-y mass very nearly exploded, almost tripling in surface mass _outward_.

It was difficult to describe, the feeling of wings. There are extra bones and muscle that a human simply cannot comprehend that comes into play. The closest that her mind could come up to describe is when an arm has been in a cast, and that cast has been in a sling, for weeks, or months. That glorious, fearful moment when the bindings are finally loosed, and trembling as hard as a newborn babe, the unused limb…all shaky, and weak, and atrophied but _there_.

That was a similar feeling that Darcy experienced right then.

But instead of having to wait months of rehabilitation, a few quick flaps and a spread [stretch] of the finger like bones to dry to remaining gore as she flared them out like some oversized bird of prey [the image of the turkey vulture guarding it’s kill she watched on a documentary came to mind though she was no vulture ].

It felt different but at the same time so familiar she burst into tears almost immediately, her hair, hands, and arms liberally coated in blood and other bodily viscera but she paid no heed as she covered her mouth, the bridge of her nose, as she cried out in relief and disbelief.

Thick drops of salty liquid that clouded her view but did not stop her from noticing that her wings were not the downy soft, feathery kind she used to bear anymore.

A long, tapered foreclaw [finger?] tipped with onyx talons on each wing.

Translucent hide, almost webbing like connected to each fully, individually articulate phalanges, bat like.

Leathery, or esque, Darcy could not quite decide as she slowly brought her left wing to her face for closer inspection.

Armored, even, on the outward facing side despite her having no trouble ‘seeing’ through on the ‘translucent’ side closest to her.

Something bigger than a bat, then.

Like a dragon.

Like her father's wings in one of his more natural forms.

“Oh, Hades, He Who Gave Me Life, Source of My Blood, Protector of Souls, Gatekeeper to the Underworld, be near and protect me,” Darcy trembled, and her wings trembled as well.

“Darcy!” Brock had sat up beside her the moment her tears started to fall and reached forward to cup her face, mindful but not afraid of his wife’s new appendages. “Don't cry, sweetheart.”

He pulled her against his chest and cradled her carefully, one arm about her shoulders and the other a bit lower on her waist than he normally would due to the distal webbing [did they function like rudders he wondered] murmuring softly how much he loved her.

Half sobbing and half laughing she pushed against his chest until he loosened his hold but didn’t give it up completely.

“I'm happy,” she whispered. “I'm happy,” the repeated words were accompanied by a kiss she placed on his collarbone. “Just…overwhelmed. So much whelmed, over and under and everything in between whelmed,” she hiccupped.

“It's scary that I could almost understand all of that,” Brock muttered and Darcy snorted, immediately using a sort of clean portion of towel that survived to wipe up her nose [she was a messy crier, okay, there was snot and salt and other things that happened okay? She wasn’t a fucking Disney princess].

Tenderly, almost hesitantly she moved and flexed her wings, spreading them out in a wide arch before she brought them nearer to them again, moving them around Brock and herself as if a blanket covered their forms.

His warm hand spiraled with a comforting heat through her.

“They are beautiful,” his tone and gaze left no room for an argument. “As are you.”

“You sap,” Darcy retorted, but there was no heat in the accusation and Brock rumbled out a laugh.

One hand found the base of her wings and his fingers stroke across it teasingly. He did not miss the way she shuddered in pleasure and a lazy smirk formed on his lips.

“Brock,” her eyes were half closed but her tone was firm. “No.”

He pouted at her and then smiled wickedly.

“You know,” he purred far too enticingly she couldn’t stop Lady Bits from raising her head in interest, the traitorous libido. “I'm just trying to help.”

“Suuurrreee,” Darcy drawled, eyeing her spouse warily and slowly pulling her wings back to the relative safety somewhere behind her back, exposing her chest but some sacrifices must be made.

Those inhuman, demon eyes flashed red and with the wicked smirk and stubble, Darcy was just glad the man didn’t have dimples to complete the Ovary Busting Trifecta.

“After all sex made it all better, yes?”

“Brock, no!”

~~~

There was an unusual wind blowing around Olympus and even the closed doors and windows could not keep it out. It was dry and could almost have been mistaken for lazy had it not been loaded with intent, and the foreboding chilling musk of an old grave past its time of decay.

An ill omen.

Reports of Harbingers were flooding in, and some said the Harpies and Winged Sirens were flying with their smaller cousins once more after almost three decades of clear skies.

No one was fool enough to believe it to be natural, but no one was fool enough to mention it either while Zeus himself sat upon his throne, clearly agitated, and more troubled than anyone had seen him look for more than a millennia.

Hera, the Queen, was nowhere to be found, her chambers bare and empty. Golden dresses and shoes were still in place as if waiting for their mistress, but no servants or any of her favorite crafts was left.

Even her pet peacocks were gone.

Iris, Hera's loyal personal messenger, too, was gone from Olympus. A shift in power had informed everyone that the inconspicuous looking, tiny goddess, was freed from any obligations to Olympus, which meant she could be practically everywhere, since she held the same powers as her Nordic counterpart, the Bi-fröst.

The tiny goddess was a vicious enemy, and everyone who was alive in the times of the war against the Titans remembered just how displeased she was at the handling of her sister. What made her disappearance even more concerning was the things she knew.

After a while it became clear that more than the High Queen and her personal messenger were missing.

Eros, god of love, and his wife and children were absent. None of their residences, mortal or on Olympus, showed signs of life. The servants and pets and livestock were gone, vanished, as if from thin air.

Demeter had not appeared for the council-summon to no one’s real surprise; Zeus’s still favored sister [though he and Poseidon were obviously not her favorite brothers anymore and Hades loathed slightly less] she rarely concerned herself with the on-goings of Olympus. Less so since the Underworld princess had been punished upon Zeus' decree.

The years of drought that followed was the worst in modern history and on par with what occurred when Kore-destined-to-become-Persephone had been taken.

What was far more concerning though was that Hestia was not found tending to the hearth-fire on Olympus. Hestia's spacious rooms, very much a large and usually very inviting combination of a kitchen and a living room, filled with comfortable seating and good food, was cold and empty.

That was an ill portent in itself.

Even Hebe, goddess of childbirth, a minor goddess in Zeus' eyes and one he likely fucked as well just because her powers were so close in nature to the High Queens and was sure to piss her off, was nowhere to be found and that only fueled the whispers and speculations of these two new gods.

And just where had Hephaestus gone too?

She knew her father had sent him out to gather more Uru, and maybe that should have been her first clue that something was _wrong_ , that something big enough was going on that caused her father to demand for weapons designed to fight _other gods_ to be crafted.

Artemis' eyes shifted and darted around the gathered god;, as goddess of hunt it was rare that she felt anxious, like prey, but today she did. A good predator knows when a larger, more powerful predator is nearby, and that sixth sense was screaming loud and proud.

She felt betrayed, betrayed by her father, for sending out her brother and Hermes to hunt, and leaving her behind.

More importantly though was that she felt the stabbing pain of guilt as her eyes traveled back to her father. Long she had ignored his wrongdoings, as she as one of his favorites, had been spared from most (not all) ill fates if he felt scorned.

She could admit that she was late to realize it, to finally gather the courage to stand against her father and brother, but better late than never, the mortals tended to say.

With one last glance around she turned and left.

The Underworld was supposed to be lovely at this time of year, and if she were lucky, they would have her and hers.

With a flick of her wrist and a quick movement of her fingers her huntresses were informed of her intentions to leave and to take everything they would need with them and no more.

They would not return to Olympus, not as it was, but perhaps what it could become, after all this was over.

Unfortunately, before they could even leave the council hall the wind picked up icily cold snap; the once steady but slow wisps turned into hurricane gale force winds within moments. Anything that was not anchored down was tossed about and the Court shrieked as briefly the sky darkened above the golden dome-like energy field surrounding the flying city, and the Powers shifted once more.

It took everyone a while to realize what had happened, mostly due to the fact that no god had died since the War of the Titans.

A god had died.

Not just a demi-goddess.

But one of _them_.

The Powers shifted and the wind eerily howled once more.

Artemis trembled and did not waste a second more.

“Fly you fools!” she chivvied her household with a renewed sense of urgency to make haste.

Gaia protect her wayward children.

~~~

Tony's eyes moved from the messenger goddess to Cameron Klein and from him to Leonardo's mama (or was he more of a Raphael? At least he gave of the appearance of the hot-headed turtle, even if in truth he was a Leonardo in disguise and wasn't that just funny. He liked pizza too, might be the only carb that man ate.)

Pondering the pros and cons of the Ninja Turtles did not seem appropriate for the moment so he forced his thoughts back on track.

“Sir,” Jarvis interrupted his attempt to focus and channel his thoughts on the very important fact, that he had another god in his tower. “There appears to be a flying _chariot_ approaching the Tower.”

Blinking in slight surprise (really, he had seen too much in his short mortal life) he ignored the various surprised sounds of the other occupants of the elevator and instead demanded.

“Show me, my lovely brain-child.”

How J.A.R.V.I.S' managed to sound like he rolled his eyes was a mystery.

“Of course, sir.”

A holographic screen that clearly showed a Grecian styled chariot, drawn by two flying pigs (no seriously, two flying boars drew that chariot).

He could never use the phrase “ _When pigs fly.”_ again.

“Ares,” the two females hissed and glanced at each other in unhappy commiseration.

Steve gaped at them and Tony could practically hear him saying “They said it!”

“Uhm,” Klein stuttered. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”

~~~

“Princess Darcy, Commander Rumlow,” JARVIS’s timely interruption sounded rather urgently.

“Yes, J-man?” Darcy’s affectionate tone was at odds to the fierce glare leftover from the staring match with her spouse.

As soon as the evacuation alert had sounded, any amorous notions went out the window so to speak as the pair scrambled to gear up.

Brock was sans shirt but his pants and boots were in place, and he was working on pulling his armor to the fore whilst Darcy wound up grabbing a [thankfully] backless halter style thong teddy bodysuit an ex-boyfriend had bought her in the hopes of getting lucky and wound up being dumped for his dick-fueled assumption and hoped her hip-huggers were low enough not to interfere with her wings. Wings that apparently since now being free did not want to retract just yet. Not an unfamiliar issue for Darcy who once had wings, knowing it was more an unused muscle issue than anything being ‘wrong’, but it would make dressing more interesting.

Brock had already cast an unhappy look at what his wife was going to be wearing, not pleased that this view wasn’t going to be for his exclusive viewing pleasure, but even he couldn’t deny the need to be clothed as much as possible for the mortals. His one solace being that at least it wasn’t sheer, in fact it was quite opaque, the front giving corset vibes with solid boning and panels but the cut definitely was a deeper vee than her generous bust could modestly contain but at least she wasn’t flashing nipples and it was actually quite cute.

“Circumstances of the most urgent kind require my circumvention of the privacy protocol in place. Ares, God of War, is outside our airspace within his chariot, and rapidly approaching. All hands on deck.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Brock snarled through the fabric of his shirt, head popping out of the neck, tucking in the excess and then his armored chest piece and bracers were assembled on him with haste.

“Can I kill him this time?” Darcy’s hopeful chirp had the couple sharing dark, wicked smiles, full of fangs and promises of pain before death.

It would be scary to behold and JARVIS shuddered.

Their parent’s children indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so here we go.
> 
> I'm amazed myself.
> 
> [KiaraAlexisKlay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraAlexisKlay/pseuds/KiaraAlexisKlay)  
> thank you so much! Once again you managed to turn a chapter into a glorious masterwork
> 
> Kat Graham as Athena:  
> 
> 
> Darcy's wings inspiration  
> 


End file.
